My Angel Wore Black
by Wyoming Outlaw
Summary: Hauptmann Dietrich witnesses the consequences of wishing he had never been born. The Story takes place after "The Desert Bled Black" although it is not a direct sequel. Event's from "TDBB" are referenced several times in passing.
1. Prologue

**I am not of that feather to shake off**

**My friend, when he must need me.**

-Shakespeare, _Timon of Athens_

I regained consciousness sprawled across the packed sand of the desert floor. From the sun's position and the amount my face was sunburned, it appeared less than thirty minutes had passed since my column had been ambushed early this morning. I attempted to arise, but the searing pain in my shoulder made me sink back onto the hard sand. Apparently, I had caught a 50 caliber round whose impact had thrown me from the half-track when I was struck. I didn't remember anything after hearing the initial opening rounds and I assumed I must have been hit fairly early in the conflict.

I finally forced myself to sit up and I gingerly examined the wound. The bullet was still lodged inside and my left shoulder appeared to have been dislocated from the fall. The blood loss wasn't excessive, but I was in a tremendous amount of pain and had very limited use of my left arm. Struggling to arise, I knew I needed to immediately determine if there were any other survivors and evaluate the extent of the damage.

There were only two men besides myself still alive and they were at that, only barely. Gefreiter Voss had been hit twice and appeared to have intensive internal bleeding. Given the severity of his condition, I seriously doubted he would survive past the late morning. He might survive if he received immediate medical attention at an extensive field hospital, but the nearest one was over forty kilometers away. Unteroffizier Junger was in only slightly better condition from taking multiple hits to his torso. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, not even fully aware of the situation. It was hard to believe in my poor shape that I was the fittest survivor.

I moved Voss and Junger into the shade of a vehicle and did what I could to make them comfortable. I finally was able to stop their bleeding and I gave them a small amount of morphine for their pain. There was little else I could do for them given our situation. I used my handkerchief for my own wound to leave what remained of the limited medical supplies for my two men. If their bleeding continued, I would be forced to use rags and whatever other materials I could find for their makeshift dressings. My analytical side clearly told me they would not survive long enough for those extreme measures to be needed.

The vehicles, if possible, were in even worse shape than the men. All of the vehicles were destroyed and it would have been impossible for a unit of skilled mechanics to make even one of them remotely serviceable. The radios were shattered and completely out of service. I would not be able to cannibalize the parts from all of them to make even one working radio. Scanning the area for any other information, I saw an overturned American Jeep a short distance away still smoking. At least we had inflicted some damage to the enemy, I thought with a little satisfaction.

I made my way to the Jeep with my weapon drawn, but it was deserted and there were no casualties in the vicinity. Not that I expected any; I knew Sergeant Troy would never leave any of his men behind no matter what their condition. There were no blood marks so I seriously doubted we had hit any of his team. It seemed like there was no end in sight for his eternal luck and skill against me. And, as I also crossly noticed, the Jeep had been stripped of anything that remotely could have been of use.

"Not even so much as a pocket knife," I said out loud sarcastically. However, four men in one Jeep with extra equipment; this could hinder and slow them down. If a German column came across them it would open them up for capture, I thought analytically, still trying to make the best of a bad situation.

I returned to where I had left the surviving two men and worked to formulate a plan out of something, anything for us to live until the sun rose tomorrow. It was still morning and we had the heat of the day plus the cold of the night to live through. With no working radios or vehicles available, there was no realistic way for me to summon or seek assistance. We would need to wait to be found either by the Germans or the Allies.

I knew where our lines were, but I also knew I wouldn't be able to reach them in my current condition. Finally, I knew it would be the immediate death of the two men if I left them alone and undefended in case a group of Arabs arrived to investigate the wreckage. No, I wouldn't leave my men; we would live or die here together in the desert. Given our condition and what limited supplies we had, I estimated we had at the most two days. I probably could last somewhat longer, the remaining two no doubt less.


	2. Chapter 1

I sat leaning against a vehicle hulk, calmly smoking a cigarette as I looked up at the multitude of stars in the desert sky. The stars appeared so close tonight, almost as if they were reaching out to possess me. It was one of the sights I enjoyed most about the desert: the clear night skies perfect for gazing at the stars. Even at our family's estate in the countryside, one couldn't see them this brilliantly. Tonight, I relished the stars and the heavens even more than I normally did since I realized I would never be in their presence again.

I have always been a sound sleeper, but on the rare occasions I was unable to sleep here in the desert, I would leave my tent and look up at the heavens, wondering what answers they held. I would speculate if there truly was a God amidst them, and if He saw what his magnificent creations were doing to each other and how He would judge me for my participation in this mindless madness.

I yearned for God's comfort in my life and yet its soothing calm never arrived, there didn't seem to be a divine plan or purpose, no power currently guiding the universe. There was no final line in this book of life that gave the suffering any meaning. I would at times have the haunting sense of hopelessness and the meaninglessness of life's circumstances. I was plagued at times by anxiety, fear and the demons that are legion to us who were serving. My devout faith in God had begun to falter more frequently over the last few months even though I knew that mankind was to blame for the carnage and not the Almighty.

On this final night, I remembered when my shattered faith had become complete. It was during the last time I had returned home to Germany on leave, when I was at long last able to slip away from Africa's intoxicating strangulation. On the final day, I had spent the day quietly with my family, enjoying my time with them, realizing that it was an unknown when, or even if, I would see them again.

The day had ended late with my father and me treasuring an excellent cognac in front of a fire in the library. After being in the continual blazing day time heat of the desert for almost two years, I always seemed to be cold and the fire seemed to welcome me with its warmth. The fire felt so gentle against my skin and the cognac had warmed and relaxed me from the inside. I felt the tension and anxiety that always seemed to be within me slip away into the night.

We sat there talking about nothing in particular. We spoke about everyday life, something the two of us had rarely shared while we politely avoided discussing the war. It was an unusual occurrence for the two of us to share something so ordinary as a drink and conversation together. He was a compassionate but stern man, and as one soldier to another, I admired him greatly for all he had accomplished on the battlefield.

I frequently thought I knew him better as a fellow soldier than I did as my father. I loved him as my father, but we had always had an extremely formal relationship where I was kept at a distance and very much at arm's length. He expected complete discipline from me and would accept nothing less. I always believed this was due to the way he was raised by his father, an even sterner man, and my father knew of no other way to raise a son. When I was a young boy, it was completely foreign for me to witness the close relationships my friends shared with their fathers. This closeness was unfathomable to me and sometimes I would pretend these men were my father instead of my own.

At times I believed my relationship with my father might have been different if my younger brother, Joachim, had survived and lived to be a man. Joachim had been still born when I was ten; a perfectly formed second son who never had the opportunity to draw his first breath. My parents were devastated over such a grievous loss and the emotional pain to them must have been inexplicable. It was the only time in my life I ever witnessed my father crying.

The formal relationship I had with my father tightened after Joachim's death. Perhaps my father was trying to shield himself from a possible further loss in case I was killed in a war. As his only surviving son, the assumption had already been made that I would follow in his military footsteps. Talk of war was quickly becoming a common conversation staple even at my young age and I knew it was only a matter of time before I would see the reality of a battlefield. If Joachim had survived his birth, no doubt he would also be serving in the Wehrmacht under our obsessed leader, possibly already killed during this never ending conflict. Ironically, his ultimate fate would have remained unchanged.

My relationship with my father was quite different than the one he shared with my younger sister. They had a very warm and friendly relationship and, at times, I was jealous of it. She could easily wrap him around her little finger which she would do shamelessly with good spirits when there was something she desired. He never seemed to be able to tell her "no" or be stern with her, situations so unlike with me.

Perhaps it was because I was now his only son, the one expected to continue the family's tradition, the one to lead men into battle and to order them to their deaths. I felt that he always held me to a higher standard than himself, wanted and in many ways demanded me to be an even better man than he was himself. Over the years, I came to believe that this belief was something I was destined to never achieve.

"I strongly suggest for you not to marry at this time," he said quietly during a momentary lull in our conversation, interrupting my thoughts about him. "I understand how things are with young men away at war since I was once one myself, but it could end up not being fair for either the young lady or yourself. Do what you must in the meantime, but do what you believe is right and always maintain respect for the lady."

"I understand, Sir. I have already made a vow to myself not to marry until after the war," I replied honestly and without hesitation. I was rather surprised as to why he would bring this subject up to me at this time given that the war was already several years old. Although he was aware I had had quite a few relationships over the years, I hadn't been in a serious relationship with any women even remotely since the war had begun. However, a deep part of me understood he was looking out for my best interest during these difficult times and was not prying into my personal life. I could be killed at any time leaving my wife a widow and possibly leaving her with a young child. However, it was what he said next that took me completely off guard and which seized me all the way down to my wretched soul.

"You must know what they are doing," he said flatly and I could see him from the corner of my eye turn to face me. I immediately noticed that his words were a statement and not a question and I knew exactly what he was referencing. It wasn't necessary for me to ask him to define "what" or "they" to me; I already knew their meaning.

I immediately found myself tensing up at his words, the effects of the cognac and the relaxed evening instantly dissipating. I had always avoided this topic, but I knew it eventually would be brought up by someone, anyone, surrounding me. For this subject to be broached by my father, who, if possible, had an even greater sense of honor than me, made it all that much more difficult to face. It took me a few minutes to respond to his statement, carefully choosing my words as I did so.

"Yes, Sir, I do," I finally replied quietly, continuing to look into the fire, unable and unwilling to look at him directly. How could I ever possibly admit that I already knew more than he ever could possibly imagine in his worst nightmare?

"Have you been involved with any of it?" he asked frankly. "I will know if you are not telling me the truth."

"No, Father, I have not," I replied honestly, looking at him directly as his piercing eyes studied my face closely. Even if I had been involved with these horrid acts, I would have felt obligated to tell him the truth. Lying to him would have been even more difficult for me than admitting my participation in something so abhorrent.

My choice to call him "Father" at this intimate moment surprised even me. It was the only time in my life I could remember calling him anything other than "Sir". Even as a young child, I had always addressed him formally in this way. It had been expected of me to respect him properly and nothing else would have been accepted by him or the other men in our family. My sister always called him "Papa", an affectionate term I could never imagine using myself. For me to call him "Father" during this conversation was an extremely close and personal moment for me.

"Your response is what I would expect of a son of mine. You are not to bring dishonor upon yourself or this family. See to it that you do not." His final words were direct and cut though me. The closeness I had felt with him just a few moments ago dissipated quickly into the fire.

I resented that he spoke to me like one of his lowest young recruits or as a boy instead of as his grown son. I also resented him for not speaking to me as someone who already knew that these events were repulsive and despicable. Finally, I resented him for doubting my honor as a man, not realizing that I also possessed the same principles that he did, the same ideals which bound me not to participate in these events.

I wanted him to recognize that I was doing everything in my power to live up to the Dietrich name, to live up to the Germany I knew was better than the men currently leading her. In these brief moments with him, I hated myself for believing myself not his equal, not the one worthy enough to continue the family heritage if I was fortunate enough to survive the war.

I knew our conversation had ended. From my perspective, I could think of nothing more to say to him at this difficult moment. What else could I possibly say after such an unspoken topic? I waited several minutes before I believed I could respectively leave and escape the uncomfortable situation.

"Sir, would you excuse me? It's later than I realized and I will be leaving early tomorrow. Thank you for the cognac and the pleasant evening."

I went up to my room quietly, not wanting to disturb my mother and sister who had already retired for the evening. I opened up the doors to the balcony and stepped outside after slipping a blanket around my shoulders. It was a beautiful, crisp evening and I found myself bathed in moonlight. I could smell rain in the air and see the darkness of the storm clouds in the distance. When I longed for home from the desert, this was the beautiful Germany that would come to my mind and thoughts. At times, my need and desire to return had been so strong I thought I would go mad. It was only the reality of what waited for me in Nazi Germany which would bring me to my senses as to what actually awaited me.

I lit a cigarette and looked up at the stars. They were surely beautiful here, but not as perfect as those I frequently visited in the desert. I found myself sharing the quiet and my inner turmoil with them.

What madness had Germany brought upon itself? I knew this was something that future generations would pay for dearly and Germany would never be allowed to forget. I loved my country, but I knew it would end badly for Germany and for all who had supported her. I was a part of it; I had been, for several years. I had made a dangerous decision many years ago to serve the Wehrmacht, a decision I had made willingly.

I gave a tight smile at the thought of making a different one; I would have been shunned by my family for walking away from and damning my military heritage. But I knew, deep down inside, I never would have made any other decision. The military was the career I had always wanted. I had never even remotely considered or thought of dedicating my life to anything else. I had been bred for the army; I could not even begin to imagine doing anything else with my life.

This realization forced me to finally admit that my self-worth and self-satisfaction were derived from being a German officer, serving my country honorably while trying my best to limit the senseless madness behind this war. I had had the misfortune to be born at the wrong time, to serve in the wrong war, to have sworn allegiance to the wrong commander-in-chief. I had done what I could to serve the honorable traditions of the Wehrmacht while minimizing the under lying darkness of this war. While I had served honorably, I knew the war's final result would be the same for me.

There had been a Dietrich serving for several generations and there was a very real possibility it would end with me, I thought calmly. My military life that I held so dear would end with the war along with my family's tradition of serving. Assuming I survived as the fortune-teller had predicted, my life would be completely different in a few years, perhaps even sooner. Everything familiar to me would be different or removed from my life.

I found my thoughts drifting from that night in Germany almost a year ago back to the present. The last evening I had spent with my father when he had warned me in his own way about the unfolding events, was now nothing more than a distant memory. I was again in the desert, stranded and wounded with only the presence of the stars and the two other half-dead men to keep me company.

I continued to take pleasure with the evening as the moments passed into hours. The moon was full as it had been that final night in Germany. There were no sounds in the air, none from the wind or any birds or animals, not a sound except for the constant drags on my omnipresent cigarettes. I imagined I could even hear the twinkling of the stars reaching out to once again embrace me.

All of my senses were so alive, trying to take in everything one last time. I didn't even mind the bone chilling cold of the night; in fact, I relished it tonight. It made me think fondly of the weather back home, the weather I would never feel again, the weather so different from the daytime hot and arid climate of the desert which had captured my soul and held it in a vice-like grip.


	3. Chapter 2

I estimated that I lost Gefreiter Voss sometime around midnight. I had done what I was able for him, but he left us without ever regaining consciousness or speaking any last words. I was awake sitting near him and I noticed how his breathing became more and more shallow, longer and longer between each intake. Finally there were no more intakes of air and only silence awaited me as I did what little I could to take care of his earthly remains.

I hadn't known him particularly well. He had not been assigned to my command for long, but he had been a good soldier and had served the unit capably. It seemed over the past year that I knew less and less of the men who served under me. We were beginning to sustain heavy losses and there was a constant turnover of new men into my unit to replace those killed. It was becoming more and more difficult for me to know those who served under me and nothing, even remotely, of their personal lives.

The next day dawned beautifully and I caught my breath as sun bathed the desert in color as it crested the ridge. I could only wonder what the new day would bring for the remaining two of us. By now, our absence must have been noted and some form of rescue, no make that probably a recovery operation, should be in process. If they didn't arrive by noon, Junger and I would not be there to greet them, either.

I continued to take care of Junger with what limited supplies remained. When the sun was barely over the horizon, he regained consciousness and realized we were the only two remaining survivors. I was familiar enough with the severity of combat wounds to realize that he was quickly slipping away and would not be here to greet the sunset, let alone the noonday sun.

The two of us, of different ranks and backgrounds, would share the same ultimate fate in the same place. It's ironic how war has a habit of becoming the great equalizer for all its participants. No matter how rich or poor, upper or lower class, anyone and everyone can be assigned the same common grave on the battlefield.

After scanning the horizon again for the countless time, I finally returned and sat down next to him on the hard sand. We both knew there was nothing left I could do for either one of us. After several minutes, he looked up at me and spoke clearly without any hesitation.

"Herr Hauptmann, I would like to see my wife again, one last time."

"Of course, you will see her again," I smoothly lied to him. "Someone from our unit should be here shortly and then we'll finally leave here. You need to hold out for just a while longer. Think about where you two will visit together, what you will say to her, how you will enjoy being with her."

"You are very kind, Herr Hauptmann, but I realize how dire our situation is and I don't believe anyone will arrive shortly or even anytime today. Please don't think that I hold you responsible, we both know who is ultimately responsible for what has happened." His words hung heavy on the morning air.

No, I thought. You are the one being kind, not me. Ultimately, I am the one responsible for all my men, for what happens to them, for them living and dying. I should have anticipated, expected and been better prepared for when and where the Rat Patrol would hit us. He continued speaking, not realizing the self-doubt I wrestled with internally.

"I know I will never see my wife again in this lifetime, to do all those wonderful things you are suggesting. But, in my left breast pocket is a picture of her. Would you please take it out so I can look at her one last time?" I did as he requested, not having the fortitude to deny his words this time. He was so weak he unable to hold the picture himself so I held it in front of him. His face softened as he gazed at her, and I could see him remembering their time together as it flashed across his face. He gestured with his chin for me to look at her.

"She is very beautiful," I replied honestly, understanding why he was in love with her. She was young, barely in her early twenties with dark blond hair stylishly done in finger waves. Her eyes looked directly into the camera and her smile radiated her happiness and inner beauty.

"Yes, she is. As beautiful in the inside as the outside. I love her very much," he said with soft eyes. As an afterthought, he added "She is going to have a baby."

"Congratulations, I was unaware of the good news. When is the baby due?"

"The baby should be born any day now. From the last time I was able to visit home on leave," he said shyly smiling. "I have asked my wife to name the boy after you, Herr Hauptmann," he added frankly looking up at me. "It was good serving for you, even during the most difficult of times. You treat your men well, unlike many of the other officers." His openness made me feel even more uncomfortably guilty. Here is was I was responsible for his certain death and he wanted to name his unborn child after me.

"You greatly honor me. But perhaps the child will be a girl," I said returning his smile. "Men believe they will only father boys. Children have a way of surprising us when they are finally born. A girl named Hans would be teased unmercifully."

"No, no, it will be a boy. I know it," he said with such conviction. My gaze moved from the picture back to him and then I realized he was now gone and he would never see his child on this Earth.

"We'll meet again soon," I said softly to him. I prayed for his wife and unborn child, that the difficulties they would face would be minimal in Germany and this rapidly changing world. I then gently replaced the picture into his breast pocket and made the sign of the cross over him. I was now alone here in the desert except for my thoughts and the silent company of the dead men.


	4. Chapter 3

My thoughts raced and touched on many things from my life. I thought of my family who I would never see again and what would happen to them in the aftermath of a defeated Germany. I imagined I could smell the earthy scent of the forest back home in my beloved Germany when I would hike up the hills to greet the dawn in all its glory.

I thought of Ellery and his haunted life he had unselfishly given up twice, the future he would never share with my sister. I remembered the last time I had made love to a woman so long ago, feeling her silky skin against the rough scars on my body when I crushed her in my arms with my desire and passion as if the world would end at that very moment.

And, as much as I hated to admit it, I thought of Troy and his Rat Patrol. All the numerous times we had fought against each other, and, surprisingly, the times we had fought together. The fortune-teller had been wrong after all: our lives would not be connected after the war, I thought ironically. Yes, he had saved my life before, but he had also ended up causing my death here in the desert which we both had claimed as our own. However, as much as I selfishly wanted to place the blame of my death upon the Rat Patrol, I knew that this was war and I had been a willing participant.

It would have been interesting to have served together for the same cause, to say the least. No doubt it would have had to been for the Allied cause, I thought wryly. Although I was able to rationalize fighting for the Axis and compartmentalize the Wehrmacht and the Nazis into separate realms, I didn't believe Troy would be able to do the same. On the flip side, though, I knew I never could serve against Germany, even given the mad men currently controlling her. No, fighting on opposing sides is what was meant to be in this life.

I continued to think back on my life as I sat next to Junger's earthly remains. I didn't want to move away from him, I didn't want to be alone for my last moments. My thoughts touched on many things, but they kept returning to my career which dated back long before the war. It was my career that had brought me to the desert, and it was my career which would be the death of me, also here in the desert. No, I shook my head. It really wasn't important anymore. Nothing else matters, not to me, not at this moment, not at anytime in the past. Soon, it will all be over.

I took a final drag on my last cigarette, enjoying the concluding smoke as I slowly released it. I slowly stubbed the cigarette out with a purpose and looked out on the early morning desert which was already beginning to gain the heat for the day. Everything was beautiful and calm except for the slight breeze which occasionally ruffled my hair. Even the omnipresent flies had completely disappeared, allowing me to enjoy the moment in peace. The dawn had been spectacular in its glory. I would now be one of those I often thought about who would never see its majesty again.

I hoped my family would somehow understand the significance of the photograph taken so long ago in Benghazi and recognize the three others who shared its simple black and whiteness with me. Looking back, I wish I had sent it to my sister when I wrote her the letter notifying her of Ellery's death. And the remaining Jack Daniels? Well, I hoped the person who gathered my personal effects had the good sense to keep it for themselves to enjoy at special moments from the battlefield as I had done.

I had achieved many military successes, in Europe and even here, in the desert. What more could I have achieved if only things had been different? What more could have been achieved by others here if I had been a better soldier or if I hadn't even been here? How many men, including Voss and Junger, would still be alive if I hadn't been here to ensure their demise? It was my duty to bring them home. I should have been the only one to receive the consequences of my inadequate combat decisions. It was my life which should have been taken and not theirs. I was now ready to share their fate.

I knew it wouldn't be long now and I decided not to wait for the end. It had been a good day to live, but now it was becoming an even better day to die. I was not afraid of death; I was quite prepared to die. In fact, I welcomed it with longing arms at this moment. These thoughts were strange to me; I had never had them before in my life. Even in the most stressful moments, during the heat of combat, I had never felt such desolation.

I raised my head hoping to catch the elusive smell of jasmine, but it didn't appear on the morning air. The cheap bitch was noticeably stingy with the jasmine when it came to my death, I thought sarcastically. Ellery had been fortunate to receive the gift of jasmine twice. I heard myself laughing out loud at my jealousy about the unfortunate soul. Well, I was now ready to join him and all the others who had preceded me into calm oblivion. I pulled my Luger from its holster with a fluid motion, quickly armed it and put it to my temple.

"I'm so, so sorry," I said out loud to no one who could hear me. "I wish I had never been born so none of this would have happened."


	5. Chapter 4

I was beginning to pull the trigger when far in the distance I could hear a light vehicle rapidly approaching. I staggered up, still clenching the Luger, and stepped behind a destroyed half-track to provide me cover. Far off, I could see the dust it was spewing up, and vaguely, the outline of an American Jeep.

So, Sergeant Troy and the lads were returning to see if anything was left. These were now odds I didn't want to particularly play. Four against one and I couldn't even be remotely counted as a whole one. Still, I thought it unusual for the Rat Patrol to return after more than a day had passed. This wasn't the way Troy normally operated. My thoughts focused on if only they had returned immediately after the ambush, the other two men would still be alive. I realized this was war, and soldiers have the tragic habit of dying, but a part of me was unable to put aside the death of two good men.

The Jeep finally neared and I was surprised to see that the driver was its sole occupant. I spotted no weapons, a fact which I found even more unusual. As the Jeep slowed to a stop near me, I stepped out from behind the half-track and leveled my weapon at the driver. I immediately noticed he wasn't a member of the Rat Patrol, but he looked vaguely familiar. A part of me was greatly disappointed; as this moment I would have immensely enjoyed turning the tables on the good Sergeant.

"Step away from the Jeep and throw down any weapons you have," I ordered as loud as I could with my parched throat. The driver looked at me curiously, but remained sitting in the Jeep. "You are quickly trying my patience; I will not ask you a second time. It will be just as easy for me to kill you and take the vehicle without bothering with you. In fact, it would probably be less effort on my part."

The driver finally raised his hands and swung from the vehicle. He slowly approached me where I stood barely standing, leaning against my wrecked vehicle for support. I watched as he neared me, my Luger pointed at him without wavering. The soldier stopped in front of me, not close enough to try anything sudden, but close enough for me to get a good look at him. I kept searching my memory as to where I had seen him, but I couldn't quite place him.

He had large, round eyes and dark wiry hair, but looked like he had recently been in a bar brawl. No, I corrected myself. He looked like he had been severely beaten within an inch of his life. Even given his poor condition, his radiated a contented look, someone who probably would always have a good sense of humor. He was dressed in worn British issue and I noticed he had no cover on his head, a dangerous practice here in the desert.

"Don't you recognize me, Captain?" he finally asked with a heavy accent. My mind raced as I kept him covered with my gun. With an accent like that, he confirmed he was British. He was definitely not an American, thank God for small favors here in the desert. But I had come across so many British soldiers during the war, here and in Europe, that I could not exactly place him. Then I remembered who he was, and he must have realized I recognized him because his face broke out into a wide smile.

"I thought you would recognize me if you got a good enough look. You can put away your pea shooter now Captain, you shan't be needing it. I'm not armed," he said with that omnipresent smile on his face as he took a step closer.

"Thank you for your kindly suggestion, but I believe it will be in my best interest to keep it out and in your best interest not to approach any closer," I warned him, keeping the gun leveled at him. "It's Peters, isn't it?" I finally asked for confirmation. "No, Perkins. It's Perkins. Yes, you're Perkins." Ah, yes! I was remembering the episode, alright. Another one of the Rat Patrol's little victory raids. How could I possibly forget?

"You were a prisoner at the transitional German camp with the American entertainer Mickey Roberts. He informed the Germans that you had knowledge on where the British had buried several vital maps. The SS tried to extract the information from you before the resourceful Sergeant Troy helped you escape along with the maps' location. What a strange twist of fate which brings us back together again after parting so poorly the last time.

"Unfortunately for you, you are about to become a prisoner of war for a second time. It was not the wisest course of action for you to be out here alone and unarmed; it opened you up for capture. You should be thankful it was me you crossed paths with and not one of the natives. Now, with our pleasantries completed, I will be taking your vehicle."

"Well, not really, that's quite not what happened back at the German camp as least not now," he replied thoughtfully, ignoring my statements about taking the Jeep and he becoming a prisoner again. I thought his behavior was odd; the loss of the vehicle would have been my foremost thought if the roles had been reversed. Perhaps being exposed to the sun with his head uncovered had already affected him.

"Oh? That's not what happened at the camp?" I asked surprised and rather sarcastically, finding myself dragged into his choice of conversations. "I was there. I can assure you that I clearly remember what happened." Why was he disputing what had happened at the camp with me?

"That's not exactly what I said. I said that's not what happened _now_," he explained patiently to me, like I was a child.

"It makes no difference," I said firmly, my ire beginning to rise. "Now, I am finished discussing with you what you believe happened. I am taking your vehicle; I need to return to my unit. Too much time has already passed since I was hit. Now if you would be so kind to lie down so I can tie you up," I said with forced politeness, motioning him to the ground. How I was going to realistically accomplish this with my one bad arm and being almost dead from exposure I had no idea.

"Well, it makes a big difference now," he said, continuing to ignore me. I found my anger and frustration level increasing.

"Now? And so your method of escape changed? You flew out like a bird? Over the fence and into the heavens?" I couldn't help myself from replying mockingly.

"As a matter of fact, I did fly out, but not like a bird. However, I did fly into the heavens." His non-sensible ramblings were irritating and I had had quite enough on me. It crossed my mind that perhaps Perkins was suffering from some type of emotional battle fatigue, or he had gone mad from the beatings. Yes, it definitely would be to my advantage to quickly leave his company.

"Thank you for sharing the particulars on how you imagined you escaped. However, it is time for me to also 'fly' away, and I will use your Jeep to accomplish my flight. You have no reason to worry; I won't leave you here to die. If the maps you knew about have not been retrieved, enough time has passed for them to be rendered useless. You have nothing to be ashamed of if you disclose their location when you are interrogated again. Now, I will tell you for the last time: turn around and lay down."

"That's right kind of you; I really do appreciate it you not leaving me here, but it doesn't really matter now. I keep trying to tell you, but you're not listening to me. You see, I'm dead now," he said as he lowered his hands to his sides, ignoring the gun aimed at him. He paused for a moment to allow me to contemplate this before he continued.

"I was beaten to death in the camp by the SS when I wouldn't divulge the maps' location. I'm proud to say I never gave them a hint about their hiding spot, even as they were beating the life out of me. And when I died, my soul did fly into the heavens." Now I was convinced of his lack of sanity, but for unknown reasons I continued to dispute what had happened with him.

"Have you gone mad from being out in the sun? Don't tell me what you think _might_ have happened. I know what _actually_ happened, because I was there. Yes, you were severely beaten, but you were not beaten to death. The SS would have continued to beat you to death, but I stopped them before they did. If you remember, I _physically _stopped them before they killed you. You were alive enough to escape with Sergeant Troy and his men."

"No, you didn't," he said frankly.

"Are you denying what I did? The risk I took on your behalf, to save the life of an Allied prisoner who had key information for the German war effort?" I shook my head in disbelief. "That's rather ungrateful of you, if I may so," I added, mocking him with his own accent.

"I'm not denying what you did in the least. At the time, I was very grateful for what you did, the chance you took on my behalf. But that's what you would have done if you had been born. But since you were never born, you weren't there to stop the beating and I was killed. Simple as that, end of story."

"So, you mean to say I was never born?" I said, amused with his ramblings and myself for continuing the conversation with him. "I must say you've rather surprised me with this turn of events. Forgive me for being so obtuse, but words escape me at this critical moment." It was taking all my strength to keep myself serious and not burst out laughing.

"Now you understand!" he said with a big grin. "I'm an angel sent to show you the way history will now be."

"You're an angel?" I asked with a loud laugh, unable to stop myself as I looked over his bedraggled form. "I would think with a war on heaven would be more than amply supplied with souls ready to become angels. Or does heaven currently have 'budget cuts' in place for its angel recruitment?"

"There, there, Captain! There's no reason to become nasty," he tsked at me. "Angels come in all shapes and sizes. We're assigned based on the need and on the background we had when we were alive. I actually volunteered for your situation since I already knew you and was familiar with your background. I'm proud to say that you are my very first assignment as an angel," he said fairly beaming.

"For my situation? What are you rambling about? You mean to say that I don't qualify for an angel with more, or should I say, any experience?" I was no longer laughing and was starting to become impatient with the conversation.

"Well, Captain", he laughed. "Beggars can't be choosy and you are currently in dire need of my services. Let me explain the situation to you: It's actually fairly simple. You see, a few minutes ago you wished not to be born and your wish was granted. You have to admit, by granting your wish it _did_ stop you from committing suicide. I must say that I'm very proud of how much I've accomplished in the little bit of time I've been your angel."

"What is the difference: committing suicide or not being born? I would assume the end result is the same."

"Oh, they are not the same in the least, especially for your life! See for you, Captain, you accomplished quite a bit when you were alive."

"For the sake of conversation, Perkins, let's say your ramblings are true. If I was never born, what about everyone else who was there with us in the German camp where you were held prisoner? What about Sergeant Troy and the rest of the Rat Patrol? Why wasn't he there to rescue you? Please assure me he is not also part of this 'undead world', too. For once, I would like to be in a part of the desert with no Sergeant Troy," I said looking up into the heavens for mercy.

"No, I'm happy to inform you that he is very much alive, but he was unable to rescue me."

"Sergeant Troy finally fails in one of his raids and I was not there to enjoy the moment, relish his failure for once? If I had known wishes were to be granted I would have added this to my request list months ago."

"Well, it's not that he failed at the raid, he wasn't there at the camp. You might say he was indisposed at the moment and couldn't rescue me. "  
"You mean to say he was with a woman?" I couldn't help myself from laughing at such an absurd thought about Troy.

"No, I wouldn't quite say that."

"Than what? You don't mean to say he was drunk and in the brig?" I asked playfully, with the next most ludicrous explanation for his absence.

"As a matter of fact, he was," Perkins replied seriously.

"Drunk and in the brig?" I repeated, still laughing. "The good Sergeant Troy was in the brig for drunkenness? You must have your Sergeant Troy mixed up with another one." I suddenly became serious, tired of his game. "I don't believe it of him, not for a moment. We've had our differences on the battlefield, but I respect Sergeant Troy as a soldier and as a man. Surely, you can create a more plausible excuse for him not being there than this feeble one."

"I will show you everything in good time, Captain, if that is what you would like to see," he said with a chipper voice before he also became serious. "I say, you are rather hard on Sergeant Troy. He's a good man. I do detect a certain animosity radiating from you regarding him."

"Hard on Sergeant Troy? Hard on Sergeant Troy! How can you possibly say something so idiotic? Look around as to what he has done. How many men has he caused to be killed and the blatant destruction? All this, here and now, the death of me and of my men, is due to him and his damn group of desert rats."

"Aren't you responsible for your men and your own death? And how many men have you caused to be killed for this same war? How much destruction have you been responsible for in the very same desert? Wasn't he following orders like you?" He had struck a valid point, one which I didn't care to answer. Instead, a new thought came to my mind.

"And I suppose I'm dead too since I can see you, Angel Perkins? Is this how the afterlife is when one is deceased?" I speculated, truly wanting to know. "I must admit that I'm disappointed. I was expecting something rather different," I said looking around at the desolate desert.

"No, you're not dead. But you're not alive, either. Right now you're what I would call an 'it', your soul has no place. You wished you were never born and you were granted your wish to prevent your suicide. Just for curiosity's sake, I'm here to show you how life would be if you had never been born. We do this every now and again, when things are slow upstairs. It's amazing how one life can have an influence on so many others. Like a pebble hitting a pond, the waves of life ripple outwards."

"What type of influence have I had?" I asked angrily. "I should have been a better officer, expected this ambush that killed all of us, been prepared for it. If I had been this, then all of these men wouldn't have died due to me." I still had him covered with the weapon in my right hand and I angrily gestured with my left hand over towards the destruction. The pain free gesture caught me by surprise and I couldn't stop myself from quickly looking down at my shoulder which was now back in place.

The bullet hole and the blood were still on my clothes, but it felt like I had never been hit. I ripped open my jacket and shirt, but there was only smooth skin, no wounds at all. In addition, all the other scars I had received from the French, European and North African campaigns were gone. My skin was completely unblemished as if I was a newborn.

"I don't understand. I must be dreaming, this can't be happening," I said looking up and saw that the desert was empty and pristine, no vehicles, no casualties. Even Perkins' Jeep had vanished. It was just the two of us standing in the middle of the desert.

"Oh, no! You're not dreaming in the least, but you're about ready to have a living nightmare which will last past sunset and into infinity." I ignored his ramblings; they didn't worry me at the moment. I was more concerned about the remains of my men.

"Where are the men who perished in the raid? And Voss and Junger, they survived the ambush yesterday morning, but died afterwards. Are they part of this?"

"They're still dead, if that's what you're asking. But, what else do you expect? Too bad about Junger's wife being nine months pregnant. And yes, it would have been a boy like he was hoping for."

"So, he would have had a son," I said with a slight smile. "He wanted a boy."

"That's quaint of him; most men seem to want sons. Too bad how things have now changed."

"But he was already dead when you arrived so my suicide should have no impact on whether or not he should live."

"Perhaps. But what I mean is that it is now too bad for his son. If Junger had lived, his son would have been an aeronautical engineer."

"How does Junger's death change the boy's future?"

"You see, Captain, Junger was originally scheduled to survive the war. But since he won't survive, he won't be there to encourage and influence his son throughout the boy's life. The boy's poor mother will do her best, but the boy's lack of influence from his father will have a profound effect of him. There will be no college in his future, not now. He will need to work and help support his family from a young age. The boy will now become a sanitation engineer."

"A what? What is a 'sanitation engineer'?" I asked, not understanding the title in english.

"A janitor."

"There is nothing to be ashamed of for being a janitor, a sanitation engineer" I said firmly. "It is an honest living to support one's family."

"That's true, but an aeronautical engineer could have been something much, much more and contributed to Germany's future after the war. Do you want to know about your own son?" he asked suddenly, turning the conversation towards me.

"I don't have a son," I told him matter-of-factly, "At least, not that I'm aware of," I added quickly as an afterthought.

"No, you don't have one yet, although you have been rather a rakish fellow over the years. There's just something about you dashing soldiers that just drive women wild," he laughed heartedly. "Still have thoughts of the American redhead in Benghazi, don't you? I'll tell you for the last time that she really was a true redhead so you can once and for all stop wondering about her. How many times do you have to be told?" I looked at him sharply, unsure how he could have known about Miss Colleen from so many years ago.

"As for your son, he would have followed in your family's military tradition and rose up to the rank of general. Pretty good for the son of an oberst, don't you think?"

"Yes, it would be, but I did not reach the rank of oberst," I clarified, placing my hands behind my back in a defensive position. My goal had been to at least achieve the rank of major before the war ended and oberst afterward. Not yet attaining major had been a key career disappointment to me.

"Actually, you would have been promoted to major on March 15, 1944," he said looking at his watch for his confirmation. "That's a good day to be promoted. It's when tax returns are due in the United States. You would have achieved the rank of oberst in the 1950's after you had joined the re-established German army."

"What else can you tell me about my son, the one I would have had?" I asked him. I wanted to know about what now would be gone from me forever.

"He would have had a significant role in NATO, helping to lead Germany's armed forces into the future."

"NATO? What is this 'NATO' you mention so casually? I find it hard to believe that a defeated Germany would become part of it," I asked.

"It will be an alliance with the Allies that comes about after the war, but it doesn't matter at this point. Your son won't be there to contribute since you were not born to father him. Given that fact, neither will you be there to contribute to Germany's future after the war, for that matter."

"You're rather loose with my life, Perkins."

"On the contrary, Captain, you are the one who has been loose with your life, the one to throw it away so easily."

"Only one child?" I asked, pressing the issue.

"Yes, but it wouldn't have been for lack of effort," he said with a kindly smile. "Your physical relationship with your wife would have been as passionate as your emotional relationship with her. Your love for her was meant to be strong and deep."

"What becomes of the woman, the woman who would have been my wife, the mother of my son?" I asked, curious about her new fate and wanting to know about the woman now lost to me forever. Perkins looked out over the horizon as if he was witnessing my former future, the scenes flashing before him. His face softened before he answered, the bruises appearing to fade away to nothing.

"An extraordinary woman, she is as intelligent as she is lovely. You have fine taste in women, Captain," he said sincerely, turning towards me. "She is a doctor; she will now dedicate herself to the field of medicine. Her patients will become her family instead of the one she would have had with you and your son. Unfortunately, she will be an 'old maid' and will never marry. You, Captain, were slated to be the only one for her heart," he said with sadness in his eyes.

"Do I currently know this woman?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. I was searching my memory and for the life I me I couldn't remember knowing a woman doctor. Nurses yes, but a doctor, no. I was positive I would have remembered a female doctor, an unusual occupation for a woman at this time. Perkins started laughing, slowly at first, then ever louder, finally wiping the tears away from his eyes from laughing so hard.

"Oh, Captain! Please stop! I'm begging you! I can't take this anymore," he said continuing to laugh. "No, no, no! This is the one juicy piece of information I'm going to take to my grave. We angels have to have some secrets, you know. But, boy! You missed out on a wonderful woman. The story on how you meet her is the subject of a novel alone. And the color of her hair? Well, let's just say I will take that piece of information to my grave, although the powers above are aware of your preference for redheads." I stood there glaring at him, not finding him amusing in the least. Finally, he stopped laughing and became serious.

"Now that we have your personal life all cleared up, it really is time for me to begin showing you how things turn out in this world without you." He took a look at me and shook his head. "No, this won't do, not in the least. You can't go looking the way you do, all the blood and what not staining your uniform, shirt torn, unshaven. We will be traveling behind Allied lines and you really do need to look presentable." He took another look at me and then smiled.

"There. That's much better. You clean up pretty well, I must say. Good thing the ladies won't be able to see you; you would have to beat them off with a stick or we wouldn't be able to accomplish a thing. Here take a look," he said as he pointed for me to look at my reflection from a shallow pool of fuel which hadn't been absorbed into the desert. Without being able to stop myself, I took a step forward and gazed into the pool at my transformation.

My reflection showed me transformed from my desert into my dress uniform, boots spotlessly polished, medals on my chest and at my throat, my cover under my arm, my Luger gone from my hand. My skin was clean and I appeared to be newly shaven. I rarely wore my hair slicked back, but I must admit it looked excellent. I firmly placed the cover on my head and the picture was complete.

"No, that's not quite right," he said with a frown looking at me. I was puzzled by his comment. I was always meticulous when wearing my dress uniform, and I knew there was nothing out of place. Suddenly, he reached up my Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and yanked it from my throat and casually tossed it into the pool before I could stop him. I was outraged at him action and started to take a step towards him."

"Return it," I said, ready to physically accost him because of his boldness but he stood his ground without flinching.

"You didn't earn that honor; you have no right to be wearing it. You're being disrespectful for all the men who did earn it."

"Yes, I did earn that honor," I said with controlled fury. "At the Battle of Jufra."

"But you weren't there, remember? How can you be at Jufra if you were never born? Now you'll never earn it. Looks like you'll also miss the after awards party, too," he said smugly. I stood there seething; there was nothing else I could say to dispute him.

"Captain, its time for us to leave this place," he said dead seriously, his face suddenly hard. "You needn't worry about remembering its location, at the end of the day I will return you here, and return you into your desert uniform. Everything will be exactly as it was before, except for your life."


	6. Chapter 5

"Well, are you coming with me or not, Captain?" he asked me as he started to walk up the sand dune. "I will only be with you until sundown, and our time is quickly fleeing."

"There's nothing over there," I said to him. "My column came from that direction earlier this morning."  
"Well, things have a way of changing in your new world. Just humor me." Patiently, I followed after him, my boots sinking deep into the sand as I climbed the dune. I caught up with him when he reached the crest, where he had paused to gaze at the scene in front of him. I was surprised to see a small habitation, not much more than a few dilapidated buildings. The entire area appeared to have come under frequent bombardment from both sides during the war. Among the buildings, I could see a young child and a woman going about their daily business of life.

"Captain, do you recognize this place?"

"Yes, of course I do," I replied puzzled. I couldn't help myself from turning to him and asking, "But how…this should be a good 75 kilometers south west of here."

"You will soon realize that things have a way changing from what you have known. In a few minutes you will witness just how much things can change due to one man's wish." He motioned for me to look beyond the habitation, and far off, I could see two Jeeps rapidly approaching which were being pursued by a German column. Faintly, I could already hear the firing from both sides, each trying to eliminate the other.

"No, there's something different, not quite right," I said to him with a frown, trying to pinpoint the difference. I went over the events of that day in my mind from the distant past as it was being relived in front of me. It then came to me with a start: there was no German staff among the German column.

"I will not be there, will I?" I asked, turning to him for confirmation.

"That's right, mate. You will not be there because you wished to have never been born. Is it finally starting to make sense to you? Now you will see the impact and price of not being born will have on this particular episode of your life."

I felt like I was watching a film in slow motion as the incident unfolded in front of me; the film was now remade but without my presence. As before, the little girl became frightened of the gunfire and ran for the protection of her mother. She fell into an abandoned well and was saved from death by the perchance of landing on a narrow ledge inside. Even from this distance, I imagined I could hear the mother's plaintive wails about her trapped daughter over the firing of the weapons. I knew Moffitt could understand her cries since he spoke her language. However, even if one didn't speak Arabic, her wails would be understood by anyone with a sense of decency.

Troy saw the woman and again instantly surmised the situation. He ordered his men to cease firing and the Germans, unsure of his motive and the developing situation, also gradually ceased firing. I knew none of the Germans below spoke Arabic so they were unable to understand the mother's cries. From my vantage point, I could see Troy cry out to them in English, demanding, no make that begging, for a truce, in order to rescue the girl. When the Germans continued firing, Moffitt reiterated Troy's pleas in their language to ensure their understanding. Finally, reluctantly, both sides agreed and they went to work saving the girl as if nothing had changed from when I was present.

As before, they retrieved the rope from a German vehicle and Private Hitchcock again went down into the well, both sides working together with the common purpose of saving the girl's priceless life. The scene continued replaying itself, even down to moment when Hauptmann Bruener finally arrived in the half track after being delayed in the wadi.

Suddenly, it struck me. I realized with horror what was now going to happen below. My original role when I was present had vanished and there was no one to assume it. I whirled to Perkins, looking at him to see if he also had the same realization, but he just continued to watch the unfolding events, ignoring me.

"Stop him," I said quietly, already knowing the chain of events. "You must stop him."

"Stop whom?" he asked innocently.

"You know whom! This isn't the time to play games with me," I said sharply to Perkins. "Hauptmann Bruener. You must stop him from arriving. He can't arrive now given the change of events. On the day I was originally there, I had the rank and authority to force him to accept the truce with the Rat Patrol. Other than Hauptmann Bruener, the highest ranking German soldier now present is a feldwebel. A feldwebel will not be able to countermand Hauptmann Bruener."  
"You're correct, he won't be able to," Perkins replied unemotionally without elaborating. "It was your role in life to stop Bruener, not mine, not the feldwebel's. You will now witness how things have become without you being born." He, too, knew what was going to unfold. And like a bad dream, it all came to life just as I feared. Unlike before when I was present, Hauptmann Bruener now was able to end the truce before the rescue was completed.

Bruener forced the fighting to resume with the Rat Patrol caught in the midst of still trying to save the girl. Their own lives were now seriously in peril and they had no choice but to release the rope, trapping the girl and Hitchcock in the well. The remaining three Rat Patrol members were forced to fall back to their weapons and finally back to the Jeeps which had the more powerful 50 caliber weapons.

It was rather surreal watching the events unfold down below, knowing how they would end. I had to commend and respect the Rat Patrol for their tenacity. If anything, I thought they fought even more ferociously, like they were processed by the devil, than they had during the original event with me. Not only were the three remaining men fighting for their own survival, they were fighting for their team member and for the life of the girl. However, I knew this encounter must eventually end; the new chain of events must eventually have final closure.

It was when the Rat Patrol had fallen back during the fiercest part of the battle, that Bruener approached the well and savagely kicked the mother aside. He stood over the well for the briefest of moments, looking down into it before he fired his weapon into the well. I could see Troy yell Hitchcock's name when Bruener fired. Due to the intensity of the firing, I wasn't able to hear the despair in his voice which I could clearly see from my vantage point. It was at this moment Troy cut down Bruener, killing him next to the well. With Bruener's death, the Rat Patrol was slowly able to gain control of the situation.

It seemed like hours must have passed, but I knew that time on the battlefield was deceiving. At most, the conflict had probably lasted only fifteen minutes. The desert was again sprawled with German bodies bleeding black into the desert floor, but this time there were two additions who had joined their silent ranks. All the while, I stood there powerless to have any influence on the event as it was now written.

I immediately started towards the well, not caring if Perkins followed me. Ahead of me, I could see Troy and his remaining two men also approach the well. Surprisingly, the mother was still alive and hadn't been hit during the concentrated firefight which had surrounded her. The mother's wails continued, unsettling as they carried over the distance.

As she saw Troy and his men approach, she managed to pull herself up from the ground with dignity. Without saying a word, she approached Troy and began beating her fists against his chest, no doubt holding him responsible for what had happened. Finally, she found her voice and began passionately cursing at him for the death of her child, holding him responsible for the event. She damned him to hell in death and damned him to a living hell while walking the earth.

Troy did what he could comfort the woman, but what comfort could he, or anyone for that matter, offer to her regarding the loss of a precious child? All the while she continuing to curse him in a language he didn't know, but which her meaning would have been understood by him instantly. He finally forced himself past her and made it to the well to look inside it, praying beyond all hope, that perhaps the two were still alive, but already knowing the reality.

I saw him close his eyes for the briefest of moments after he looked, before he straightened his back and quietly gave the order to leave to his remaining two men. The well was too deep and he lacked the resources to recover either one of the bodies so they would be interred as they were. The three walked back to the Jeeps in silence. When they reached the vehicles, Troy took the driver's place in the nearest Jeep and immediately drove away alone. Without any comments or thoughts among them, they left the way they had arrived except with one less member.

I forced myself to look in the well when I finally reached it. I knew what I would find, but I felt I owed my respect to the two victims, along with Troy, to look. As I knew they would be, both the girl and Hitchcock were dead, but for what purpose did it serve? I could accept Hitchcock's death; he was a combatant, but not the girl's death.

I had seen enough and I finally moved away from the well, drowning in my thoughts. By chance, I happened to look down and saw the young girl's necklace, lying half covered by dirt, as I had found it when I was originally alive. Except this time, I would be unable to return it to her. It was such a simple item; it would have, at most, cost a few pfennigs back home. I'm positive, though, it was a treasure to her in this part of the world where so many had so little. The poor mother was still at the well, refusing to leave, sobbing with only us to hear her grief.

"It was so ironic," I said as my voice trailed off, picking up the necklace and brushing off the dirt. I didn't know if Perkins had followed me and I didn't care if he heard what I had to say. "Here it was both sides were doing everything within our power to kill each other, and yet, both sides were willing to stop the killing for just a few brief moments so that a young girl might live. The life of a child who had nothing to do with what either side was fighting for; one who was just trying to live her simple life."

"That's true. But now she's dead, along with Hitchcock, although nothing changed for the other German soldiers. They were dead in either scenario. Still, it's too bad you were never born, to stop Hauptmann Bruener at this particular moment." I didn't know what to say, I don't think there was anything I could say to him. He then continued to speak, to press the issue.

"Originally, when you were alive and were part of all of this, why did you hesitate to agree to the truce? Sergeant Troy called out to you several times; he had to force the issue with you. You knew the situation, you spoke Arabic, and you understood what the mother was saying. Yet, you hesitated. You knew what the right thing was to do. Tell me, Captain, why were you so indecisive at such a critical moment?"

When he questioned me, I could feel my anxiety level increase, just as it did originally when I was confronted by the situation. I found myself torn again about the event. It had been so out of character for me, wavering on what to do, hesitating to finally issue the order to cease fire. I was usually very decisive in my orders, giving them without hesitation.

"Tell me," he said more harshly, his tone demanding an answer.

"I was in a very difficult position, to say the least," I said slowly, not caring to answer his question. "We had surprised the Rat Patrol, probably would have captured them or possibly even killed them. It would have ended their extreme harassment to us in this part of the desert. The treatment of commandos was under strict orders from Berlin, even though the Afrika Korps had not followed them exactly. To form a truce with them, even for something as noble as the girl's rescue, could provide them the opportunity to escape, which, ironically, is what happened.

"I was concerned about facing very serious consequences, word possibly reaching Berlin. I knew the Wehrmacht's influence would be limited in protecting me. I was also concerned about the punishment my family would face if my actions were viewed unfavorably by someone with any power. I would never have wanted them to suffer on behalf of my decisions. My father still has considerable influence back home, but things are 'not ideal' in Germany. I had deep concerns that there could have been a strong possibly he would not have been able to save any of us."

"Yet you decided to take the chance, even though what you feared did come to pass, that they did escape?"

"You already know the answers to all of this. Why do you continue to press me on this?" I asked him uncomfortably.

"Because I want to hear _you_ say the answers, for you to realize that I know your reasons, too."

"Yes, I knew it was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do for the sake of a child's life," I said with a low voice, not wanting to relive those moments from the not so distant past. "At that moment, I found myself willing to risk my career, my life, everything for the sake of this poor child.

"It is so easy for you with your ascots, berets and tea time. You're fighting for something so much different than I am. You're fighting for a sane ideology while I'm fighting for a warped and bastard ideology. Even though I try to convince myself I'm fighting for Germany and my military heritage, something noble that I truly believe in, at the end of the day, I know that each man I kill or caused to be killed, keeps the Nazis in power that much longer." I stared at him, hoping the discussion was now finished. He was quiet for a moment, but he refused to let the issue pass.

"Just for the benefit of conversation, what did you say to your superiors? Were you able to explain to your superiors the situation?" he asked quietly, not phased in the least by my response.

"It was not a pleasant encounter, to say the least," I said, anxious at the memory, my voice lowering even further. "I told them what had happened, fully expecting to have a court-martial, possibly something worse. I was surprised that the blame was firmly placed on Hauptmann Bruener. First, for not respecting the truce and second, the way he acted during the situation after his arrival. They determined that he was the one who caused the Afrika Korps to lose control of the engagement, causing it to spiral out of our control. The senior officers were appalled at his behavior, for actions they believed unbecoming of a German officer. I heard one say under his breath he thought Bruener deserved what he received."

"Well, looks like you weren't sent back to Berlin or shot as a traitor."

"No, although I was verbally reprimanded off the record in private by my superior officer. I was strongly advised not to do another asanine stunt like it again. A future episode might not bode as well for me, and my experience was too valuable given the difficulties the Afrika Korps was beginning to encounter." For several moments, neither one of us said anything. We just stood there among the ruins, the mother still sobbing for her loss into the desert.

I silently walked over to where the mother was slumped down next to the well. I gently placed the necklace near her, so she would at least have a remembrance of her daughter. Finally, I broke the silence

"Sergeant Troy, how does this affect him?" I asked matter-of-factly, needing to know the answer to my question. "I know from personal experience that it is always difficult losing someone who reports to you, no matter the distance of the chain of command. I know that the deceased young man, Private Hitchcock, was his driver. In my dealings with the Rat Patrol, I sensed the two were close."

"How do you think he handles this? He probably feels the same way you did about the loss of Junger. To think Troy was doing the right thing, and yet two souls were lost despite his good intentions. But don't worry. We're not finished with Sergeant Troy, yet. We'll cross paths with him a few more times before we're finished today. At that time, you'll witness how everything impacts him in the end." With these words, he turned and started to walk away.

"Captain, I'm not finished with you yet. There's more to your life than here in North Africa. For a change of pace, let's leave the heat of the desert. We're going to visit your past in the suburbs of Paris, during the early days of the war. Are you ready?" he called over his shoulder, not bothering to see if I was following.


	7. Chapter 6

We stopped in front of an empty house, its windows smashed and broken allowing the entry of the steadily falling rain. I stood there staring at the house, the rain gently dripping from my cover. There was paint splashed across the front of the house, not able to cover its charred exteriors. I had only been to the house twice, but I instantly recognized it from those two visits.

"Where are they?" I asked quietly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"They are…" but I wasn't listening. I didn't want to know where they were. I was lost in the past, remembering the last time I had been here, not long after France had fallen.

I had met Adele on a spur of the moment ski vacation to Italy a few years after my return from my fateful trip to Benghazi. We immediately connected with each other, and we spent the days skiing and the evenings dancing and drinking in the lounge. When the long weekend came to a close, we casually mentioned about perhaps meeting sometime again in the future.

Surprisingly, we saw each other several times over the next few years leading up to the war. We exchanged occasional letters and we would meet for weekends if we happened to be in the same vicinity. Our friendship was made difficult by the distance between us: she was French and lived on the outskirts of Paris while I was constantly being reassigned to different areas within Germany. The distance was not insurmountable, but far enough to make us both realistic regarding any future together.

We both considered the relationship light and noncommittal, to be enjoyed only for those moments actually together. Each of us frankly acknowledged about seeing others when we returned home and neither one of us spoke pursuing a more serious relationship between the two of us. Looking back, I saw myself as still fairly young and not ready to make a commitment to her or any other woman at that time.

As for Adele, there was a part of me which believed she wanted a more committed relationship from me, but there was something stopping or preventing her from seeking it. There seemed to exist some insurmountable distance between us which could not be breached. Perhaps it was my ego speaking, but I never could quite eliminate this nagging thought about her.

She only visited Germany once, towards the end of our relationship. She was passing through the area and I invited her to my parent's house for supper. Adele must have felt obligated to reciprocate because she invited me to her parent's house for supper when I was in Paris a few months later.

Her father was an art professor at the university and he had decorated their house exquisitely. I enjoyed his historical descriptions of the various artworks he showed me, their background and where he had acquired them. However, I began noticing him looking at me, first in passing, then more intently during supper and he eventually stopped participating in the conversation altogether. We were half-way through the meal when he finally spoke his conviction.

"You are not Swiss as my daughter has told us," her father said ominously during a break in the conversation. I stopped in mid-chew, unsure of what he meant. The silence was deafening and I could feel my face beginning to redden. I looked at her father to better understand his statement, noticing how his face had by now completely darkened with anger. I quickly glanced at Adele trying to understand the situation. I could see her face silently warning me not to say anything, to let his comment pass, but I started to reply before I understood her warning.

"Swiss? No, I am…" but her father interrupted me before I could finish.

"You have an excellent French accent, but not good enough to fool me. Did you honestly believe I would believe Adele's farcical explanation of being from Switzerland?" I immediately looked again at Adele, not understanding why she had misled her family about my heritage.

"It's not necessary for you to confirm your nationality, it's obvious," he continued. "My entire house reeks of the sauerkraut and beer emulating from you. There's no reason for you to confirm that you are German; I already know it for a fact."

"Francois!" stammered his shocked wife. "What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten your manners? Why are you bringing this up? What difference does it make? Hans is a friend of Adele's and is a guest in our house. He should be welcome here no matter which country he considers home."

"No, he is not a guest in my house and furthermore, he will never be welcomed here. What were you thinking of, Adele, when you invited this damn, dirty Boche into our home?" he asked, his voice beginning to rise. I was shocked at this turn of events and at a loss for words. I had never been spoken to like this in my life.

"Papa, I…" Adele tried to reason with him.

"Have your forgotten about your two uncles, killed at Verdun on the same day?" he continued, intent upon the issue. "Your grandmother never recovered from the loss of two of her sons. Their deaths sent her to an early grave. You know how I feel about Germans. For you to invite one into our home is unforgivable."

"But, Papa! The war is over, has been for almost twenty years. Hans is different; he is not like the…" I immediately rose, the situation was spiraling out of control and I knew it was best for me to leave. I started to speak, but her father continued without allowing me the opportunity.

"The war might be over, but another one is coming where once again we will be fighting the Boche. This time it might be your mother or I killed. Could you live with yourself if that happened? If this goose-stepping Nazi killed your parents?" I again started to speak when her father turned his wrath on me, his face intense. "Don't pretend you don't know what the Nazis are doing in Germany!" The viciousness on his face was unbelievable.

"We raised you better than for you to associate with the likes of him. Is he the one you've slipped away to see over the last few years when you were supposed to be visiting girlfriends?" he yelled. I was shocked at his question for the sake of Adele. She appeared to be ready to break from the stress, her embarrassment extreme. I could not imagine my father or any father speaking to his daughter in such a way. "Answer me!" he screamed, slamming his hand on the table, causing glasses to overturn.

"It would be best for me to leave," I said abruptly. I could feel my flushed face and my own anger rising. I knew for me to engage in conversation with him would make matters worse for Adele and would not alter his opinion of me in the least. I turned towards her mother. "Madame Blanc, you have a lovely daughter who I respect highly. It's unfortunate your husband does not share the same respect for her. Thank you for your hospitality. Adele, I will show myself out." I saw Adele begin to stand, but her father quickly pushed her back into her chair.

I quickly left and I was barely out the door when I heard the yelling erupt from inside. It was so loud I could still hear it when I reached the end of their street. I caught a cab and returned to my hotel, stopping off at the bar for a drink. I sat in the bar for the next several hours with only my thoughts for company. My drink and cigarettes sat untouched in front of me and I brushed off anyone who attempted a conversation with me.

The extent of her father's hatred and hostility towards me was unfathomable. It was the first time in my life I had been judged regarding my nationality and not who I was as a man. I never would have blindly categorized an individual or a group of people in such a manner; it was a concept completely foreign and alien to me. While I was not so naïve to believe others didn't believe in such idiotic thoughts, for their actions to be directed towards me was unsettling. Yes, I had made surly comments about Americans, but nothing to this extent. I finally slammed my drink in a single take and went upstairs to bed. I left early the next day and didn't return to Paris until after the Germans had claimed it as its own.

I received a letter from Adele a week after my ill fated visit. I left it unopened for several days, still too angry at her and her father to bother opening it. When I finally opened it, her anguish and embarrassment leapt from the page. She sincerely apologized for her deception, meaning no harm by it, certainly none towards me. In hindsight, she realized how greatly she had underestimated her father's hatred towards all Germans and never would have imagined him lashing out at me so personally when he discovered the truth. She hoped we could salvage our relationship in some form, even if just to remain friends.

I waited a fortnight before I replied to her letter. I wanted to ensure that my thoughts were logical and that I had placed aside any lingering emotions I had of the incident. I frankly told her that while I understood the reason for her deception, I was greatly disappointed that she felt the need to lie about who I was to her family. It had cut through me to my soul and it was something I would not be able to put aside. I thought it in our best interest not to continue the friendship. I wished her all my warmest thoughts and prayers for the future, expecting never to see her again.

I had a friend post my letter from a different country, so her father wouldn't be suspicious of a German postmark. I never knew if she actually received the letter or if her father intercepted it. The end result was the same: I never heard from Adele again. I had no reason to contact her: to me the relationship, for what it had been, was over. I only saw her once again, when France had fallen to Germany.

I was temporarily posted to Paris a few weeks after France had surrendered while I awaited my next set of orders. Everything was chaotic and my days were long as I was kept constantly busy translating documents and performing other miscellaneous jobs for the Wehrmacht and various other departments of the now controlling German government.

I was only a leutnant at the time and not privy to all the highly classified documents running through the office. On the day before I was scheduled to depart, I saw one classified document which had been inadvertently placed on my desk. I was only able to read part of it before it was taken from my hands with the stern comment that I didn't have enough rank on my shoulders to view it.

I was dumbfounded about its content, not wanting to believe the road Germany was about ready to lead France down. It was everything against what I believed in as a human being, what I stood for as a German officer. I forced myself to believe the document's content, and it pushed me to realize the extreme danger facing Adele and her family.

I quickly understood with alarm and disdain the actions about to be put in motion and I knew it would be impossible for me to stop the upcoming wave from engulfing them. I put aside my increasing alarm to think of something, anything I could possibly due to assist them in such a short time. When my hope had almost vanished, I remembered someone briefly mentioning about a friend of my parents being recently posted to Paris. I knew he would be my only opportunity and I seized upon this remote chance.

I only had a few hours, three at the most if I was lucky, before my absence from duty could no longer be explained away. The price for my friend Viktor to cover for me had been expensive: a full bottle of Jack Daniel's, handed over before I left the premises to ensure payment in case I didn't return. Even with such a high price, we both knew Viktor would be able to bluff my absence for only so long before our superiors became suspicious. I didn't dare tell him the real reason for my disappearance. I let him believe I was slipping away to see the Paris "sites", with the "wink, wink, nod, nod" it was not the Eiffel Tower.

I forced myself to lightly walk up the steps to the new headquarters of the German National Socialist Party in Paris as if I owned the place. I boldly walked up to the receptionist's desk and calmly requested to see Herr Werner Bauer, explaining I was an old family friend who was here on a social visit. The ancient battle-axe slowly looked me over, and I could see her wondering how a mere leutnant could come to know the head of the local branch of the party. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she arose and went into his office to announce me, no doubt hoping I would be thrown out on my ear as an imposter. Within just a few seconds, Bauer promptly emerged from his office to welcome me.

"Hans, my boy!" he said warmly, enthusiastically shaking my hand in greeting. "I didn't believe Ingrid when she announced it was you. It's been way too long; I heard you were here in France, but I didn't know you were here in Paris. Looks like you've been kept busy," he said looking at my worn uniform. I hadn't stopped to change my shirt, not wanting to waste even a moment before I rushed to visit him. I couldn't prevent myself from flashing a smug grin over my shoulder to the receptionist as Bauer led me into his office, closing the door behind us.

"How long will you be here in Paris?" he warmly greeted me. "I just arrived a few weeks ago, myself. Ah, there is nothing like being in Paris even given the circumstances!"

"Unfortunately, I will not be here long, Sir. I actually leave tomorrow."

"So soon? Pooh! That doesn't give us much time to catch up. And how is your family, especially your mother?" he asked with twinkling eyes. "You know, I tried to court your mother before she met your father. She could have married me instead of him," he said, laughing at himself. He barely came to my shoulder and appeared to be as wide as he was tall. My sister frequently joked that if he was painted blue he could pass for a giant blueberry.

"Now, what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit? Have you come to my doorstep to finally join the party?" he asked grinning.

"I'm afraid I'm too busy being a soldier to join at this time," I said laughing, lightly dodging his question. "If I didn't know better I would swear you received a commission for each membership you acquire."

"You and your father! You are more alike that you care to admit. My service to the party will finally be complete once I have you two as members," he said, laughing again. "Seriously, is everything fine with you serving in the Wehrmacht? Is there anything you need from me? The last time I spoke with your father he was very proud of you and of your accomplishments. There's much talk of you being someone to be watched for the future."

"Thank you for asking, Sir. Yes, everything is going well with me. Hectic in the early days, but slightly calmer since France surrendered." I took a mental deep breath and continued. "Your offer is very thoughtful, but I'm actually here on behalf of someone else, a local family to be exact. They are having a few challenges at the moment and are in need of your assistance." He rested his chin on his hands and had a puzzled look to his face.

"In what way?"

"Something has arisen and they need to leave France. Since they are French nationals, travel documents are currently very difficult for them to obtain."

"And why do they 'need' to leave France?"

"Health issues," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "One might say it would be best for their long term health," I looked directly at him, firmly holding his gaze to show my seriousness.

"They can't be treated in France? What type of health problems could they possibly have? I thought French doctors were supposed to be excellent. Could a German doctor be of any assistance?" he persisted in asking, sincerely concerned.

"The family inherited their health problems. It has run in their family for generations and is not easily treated by doctors. If anything, a German doctor would make the situation worse. A doctor in another country would probably be their best option, a doctor perhaps in a neutral country? I'm sure you understand," I said, looking at him directly. The room was silent as he finally understood my statement and his face quickly whitened. His response was immediate.

"From what you have told, their health problems are too serious for me to be of any assistance. I wish them the best and I will keep your visit here confidential, for everyone's good health. It's too bad you can't stay longer, for us to catch up further, but I understand that there's a war on and you need to return to your unit," he said with a nervous laugh. He then stood and started walking toward the door, indicating our meeting was over.

"I understand your difficult position. Thank you for your time, Sir." I rose reluctantly and walked to the door.

"It's unfortunate you are leaving tomorrow. Perhaps the next time you are here in Paris we will be able to have supper together, or maybe when the war is over? Yes, let's meet after the war in a few years! Things hopefully will be different by then, a lot different," he said hurriedly, perspiration beginning to show on his forehead.

I could tell by his actions he couldn't get me out the door fast enough. I knew if I turned up on his doorstep again he would probably bar the door to prevent me from entering. I also realized it was only because of our longtime family friendship which saved me from being immediately arrested and thrown into prison as a traitor.

"Sir, I would enjoy that very much," I replied graciously. I opened the door and started to replace my cover. "Perhaps then you can also relate to me the results of your upcoming audit," I casually added, turning to leave.

"An audit? What audit?" he asked, placing his hand suddenly on the door frame preventing me from leaving. Off in the distance, I could have sworn I heard crickets chirping.

"Haven't you heard? Forgive me, Sir, I thought you of all people would have known about the upcoming audit. My contacts within the party mentioned in passing that they are beginning to audit offices they suspect are not balancing."

"An audit?" he asked again, this time with a slight stammer. He pulled me back into his office and then quickly shut the door.

"I believe it's an accounting term," I explained lightly. "Officials review party financial records as to what they should have versus what they actually have. Officials then make any …how may I put this delicately?" I paused for dramatic effect, "necessary adjustments." He stood there for a moment staring into my face which I kept purposely blank.

"Necessary adjustments?"

"My understanding is that necessary adjustments can be made in various ways, some of them fairly creative, to complete the process. No doubt the severity of the adjustment would depend on the extent of the discrepancy. I assume a large discrepancy would necessitate a substantial adjustment by the party. Of course, my contacts also stressed that the party officials audit only the offices they suspect of inappropriate behavior, no matter how the discrepancies come to their attention. And once they begin auditing, they don't stop until their suspicions are confirmed by," I again paused before continuing, "any means available."

"Of course, yes, by any means available. Yes, yes, indeed, that would make sense," he readily agreed. His face suddenly became red and I could see a vein pulsating at his temple. My immediate thought was that he was on the verge of having a massive stroke. He put his hand on my arm and gently motioned me back to the chair.

"Perhaps I've been too hasty about your friends' health. We wouldn't want the French to think we Germans are not sympathetic to their health needs, would we?" he laughed nervously, taking out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his face. He pulled out several documents from a drawer and began completing them, his pen scratching furiously against the paper. I waited for a few moments before I spoke again.

"Sir, forgive me for interrupting you, but did I mention that they would also be eternally grateful if they also received assistance regarding their travel expenses? Normally I would never have brought this up, they are too proud to even think of asking, but I know it would greatly assist them at this difficult time. I'm positive you share my thoughts.

"I would have covered their expenses myself, but I'm currently living on just my Wehrmacht salary, which is several weeks in arrears due to my temporary posting here in Paris." His pen stopped scratching and he immediately looked up. The silence in the room was deafening and I feared for a moment I had over played my hand.

"Of course, of course. I wouldn't dream of them not having financial assistance," he finally replied before the pen began scratching again.

"And Hans?" he said after several minutes, again looking up.

"Sir?" I responded innocently.

"I've known your family since before you were born. Don't believe for an instant that you're not the equal of your father. Even your old man wouldn't have handled this as slickly as you just did."

I forced myself to calmly leave his office once I had the documents and cash. I took my time entering the German staff car I had boldly "borrowed" and slowly drove away, acting like nothing was different than a visit with an old family friend. It wasn't until I was around the corner that I finally sped up. I was already behind schedule and my available time window was beginning to close rapidly

I took a chance going to their house by myself. Open signs of hostility by the French against the Germans were already beginning to surface. A soldier traveling by himself near nightfall would be an easy target no matter what their reason for being out. I seriously doubted a partisan would care if I was on a mission of mercy as he sighted me down his rifle. However, I didn't dare endanger anyone else by pulling them into my mad quest. I had already seriously endangered Viktor and Bauer.

Their street was deserted when I arrived. As much as I hated to, I was forced to park in front of their house. I cursed myself for not thinking to borrow or even steal a French car. The German staff car was completely obvious as to who was driving it and I feared her family would be targeted for being collaborators if they chose not to leave.

I quickly walked up to the door and knocked, but no one answered. I could see the curtains slightly move at the houses next door, the neighbors no doubt speculating why a German officer would be paying a visit to the Blanc residence at the end of the day. I cursed again about wearing my uniform; it was an additional mistake I hadn't thought through. I had been so intent upon obtaining the travel documents and funds I hadn't analyzed and planned through the rest of my scheme very well. My lack of thorough preparation could be deadly for all of us involved.

I knocked again, this time my mounting desperation causing me to pound on the door with my fist. I was about ready to force the door when it was finally opened by her father. He appeared to have aged a decade in the few years since I had last seen him. Behind him I could see his wife and Adele, unsure and afraid of suddenly why I, a German officer, would appear on their doorstep.

"What do you want, Boche?" he asked boldly. "Did you return for my daughter? Are you going to take her back to Germany with you, as a war souvenir?" I was incredulous at his words and I found my anger beginning to rise like the last time I was here, but I forced it aside. I had to for the sake of all of us.

"You must leave France, all of you, for your safety. The sooner you leave, the better," I said quietly, trying to reason with him.

"How dare you return to my home! I don't care that the French government has jumped into bed with you Nazis, I never will. You know how I feel about all of you Germans, you more than the rest, after being with my daughter," he said with contempt, ignoring my statement.

"You must leave France," I repeated, forcing myself to stay calm, to focus on the immediate issue at hand. I offered him the thick official envelope. "In here you will find papers allowing you and your family to travel to Spain. I've also arranged for funding to cover your expenses. I recommend you leave immediately, at first light tomorrow after the curfew. You will not have much time. Even now the process is beginning for searches. A prominent man like you will be quickly found." He knocked my hand away and it was then that my anger quickly surfaced.

"My God, man! Think of me what you want, but think of your family first at this critical time. You know what they will do if they find you, find any of you. This is your only opportunity. I don't dare come back here a second time. I leave Paris tomorrow and will not be able to assist you after this moment."

"You just being here has placed us in danger from the partisans, marked us as collaborators for future retaliation. You're trying to trick us like the rest of the Nazis; giving us a false sense of security. I don't trust you anymore than the rest." I quickly glanced behind me; it was now fully dark, and I knew I had to leave shortly for my own safety. He continued to stand there glaring at me with blazing eyes, not backing down in the least. I had no choice but to depart. Reluctantly, I turned to leave, but his wife quickly stopped me.

"Do you want us to share the same graves as your two brothers?" she furiously asked her husband. "Hans has come here at a great personal risk to himself. He is risking reprisals not only from the French but also from the Germans. What do you think the Nazis would do if they knew he was trying to help us? Are you such a fool not to realize it's only a matter of time before France becomes like Germany? Are you willing to condemn your family for something he had nothing to do with, something that happened so long ago?" He stood there staring at her, knowing the truth, but not wanting to admit it, not wanting to accept any form of assistance from any German.

"I believe you, Hans," she said softly, turning to me. "From what Adele has told me about you, you are an honorable man who can be trusted. I truly believe you are trying to assist us; I know it is not within you to betray us." She took the envelope from my hand, placing my hand against her cheek for a moment before she gently kissed it.

"I will always be grateful for you taking such a risk for our sake, especially after how you were spoken to by my husband. You will be blessed if not on this Earth, then in heaven. Thank you." I quickly turned and left, not looking back, not even to say a final goodbye to Adele. I had done everything I could do to assist them. It was now their choice on whether or not they escaped France.

"Where the hell have you been?" screamed Viktor when I finally returned to my post. To say he was frantic was an understatement. "You were supposed to return over an hour ago! The higher ups are wondering what hole you crawled into. They're all over my ass regarding you and your whereabouts. I ran out of excuses regarding your absence over thirty minutes ago."

"It took longer than I originally thought," I replied evasively, frankly surprised to have made it back in one piece. I don't know which one of us was more relieved regarding my return: him or me.

"Jesus Christ, Hans! How long does it take for you to get your rocks off with some French girl? I hope she was worth all the stress you put me through during the last four hours."

"Yes, they were worth it," I said simply with a sad smile. "More than you will ever know."

"They? What do you mean 'they'?" he screeched at me in disbelief. "You mean you took the time for more than one girl? God damn, it! You owe me fucking big time for this, more than just the bottle of whiskey. You can cough up a carton of cigarettes to cover the overtime. I'd rather be sent to the front than cover for you again."

The next day, I left Paris not knowing if Adele and her family would also be leaving. I was unable to return to their house to confirm their departure; it was too dangerous for both their sake and mine. And just as the fortune teller predicted, within six months I returned to North Africa, assigned to Rommel's staff. No one ever approached me regarding what I had done, and as the desert war enveloped me with its suffocating embrace, I was eventually able to firmly place the episode to the back of my mind.

Several months later, I received a letter from my mother with a Spanish postcard neatly folded inside. There was no note on the card, just my name and home address in Coburg. My mother mentioned that the postcard had recently arrived but without anything written on it. She thought it best to forward it to me and perhaps I would understand its meaning. Oh yes, I understood its meaning. I immediately recognized Adele's handwriting and I knew it was her way of informing me that her family was safe.

My prayers would at times settle upon them when I greeted the desert sunrise, as I gathered my thoughts for the day. I would wonder where they went after Spain, what the future held for them. How they would rebuild their life after the war, just as I wondered how I would rebuild my life after the war, after Germany surrendered and there was no Wehrmacht for me to call home.

"…in Auschwitz," I now heard Perkins complete his sentence, bringing me back to the present. "They were transported first to a local French concentration camp after they were rounded up. Eventually, they were moved to Auschwitz. All of them are now dead." I didn't want to hear his words and I so dearly wanted him to be mistaken. I continued staring at the house, imaging them walking out the door alive, her father greeting me as an appropriate suitor for his daughter, shaking my hand and hugging me briefly as an equal. Instead, all I saw was the Star of David splashed in yellow paint across the blackened front, the rain not washing it off in the least.

"Most unfortunate. You never knew their fate but originally her entire family was able to make it to Canada. You took quite a risk, Captain, not just for your sake, but also regarding your own family's well being. Your father's contact took quite a chance, too. No wonder he never mentioned it to anyone. Of course, blackmailing him about the siphoning of funds from the Nazi party helped you make him an offer he couldn't refuse. Rather bold for a young leutnant. Especially when you were only speculating; you had no hard fact he was actually embezzling."

"I knew he was not embezzling any funds from the Party. Max is as honest as the day is long," I replied, remembering my boldness. "Unfortunately, he was the only chance I had given the short amount of time available to me. It was necessary for me to play what few cards I had very aggressively to accomplish what I needed."

"Your quick action saved the entire family. You were quite right about your suspicions; the door quickly closed after they escaped France. They were among the very few to survive." He left me alone with my thoughts for a few minutes before he interrupted them with a final question.

"How did you know she was Jewish?"

"She confided to me the last time we were able to meet alone, a month before I visited her home for supper with her family," I said simply, not elaborating, not wanting to share her confidence with Perkins. I remembered the moment vividly when she had finally trusted her heritage with me. How could I possibly forget? We had spent the last few days together and she had been lying in my arms when she shared her confidence with me. I was slipping into slumber when I heard her voice from what seemed far away.

"Hans?" she said quietly.

"Hmmm?" I murmured half-asleep.

"There's something I need to tell you. I've wanted to tell you this since I first met you in Italy," she said softly, beginning to cry. I was instantly awake and sat up in bed. I studied her face, not sure of what would cause her such distress. My immediate thought was that she was going to inform me she was married, which would explain the distance she kept about our relationship.

"Adele, tell me," I said quietly, looking at her directly. I took her hands in mine to comfort her, lightly holding them. I could see her struggling internally before she finally was able to release the torrent of words.

"I'm Jewish," she said simply, her eyes searching my face for a reaction. "I don't actively practice my religion, I never visit a temple, but I am Jewish. I believed you should know since I have placed you in a very difficult and dangerous situation."

"Why are you telling me this? What made you decide to confide in me now? What is different from the last time we met? Or from when we first met?" I was taken aback by her admission, not sure how to react.

"There are reports in the French newspapers about what is happening to German nationals involved with Jews. I'm frankly concerned for your safety and for your career if it was discovered you were having a relationship with a Jew.

"At first I didn't think it would matter, it wouldn't be an issue between the two of us, but I now realize I was being extremely naïve. Things are becoming worse in Germany for Jews, not better. When I visited you in Germany a few months ago, I was shocked at how Jews were being treated." I could see her eyes still searching my face frantically for an emotion, how I was reacting internally.

"Religion is for God to decide. Does it matter to you that I'm Catholic and attend mass regularly?" I responded to her honestly.

"Of course not," she said trying to smile through her tears. "But your religion is not the one currently being prosecuted. I want to know, I _need_ to know, if it matters to you personally, if you now view me differently than you did from just a few moments ago or from when we first met."

"Adele," I said to her softly, kissing her gently on the forehead. "It doesn't matter to me in the least that you are Jewish. I don't view or think or you any differently than I did before you confided in me. In my eyes, you will always be the same woman I first met in Italy; nothing is different to me." I paused before continuing, choosing my words delicately. I needed to be brutally honest with her about the reality of the situation.

"But you must listen to me carefully: There are many others who it does matter to in Germany. You will be in great personal danger if you visit there again," I said with great difficulty. "I cannot guarantee your safety on German soil if your heritage should be discovered. I would like to continue seeing you as we have been, but it must be away from Germany, perhaps in Switzerland, where you would be safe."

"I understand, Hans, how critical it is to keep our relationship discreet. We have always had a casual relationship, and I understand anything beyond that is now impossible as long as the Nazis are in power."

She clung to me, crying into my shoulder, staining it with her tears. I held her tightly to me, wanting to give her my strength to protect her from my native Germany and all its madness. I wanted to show her that it didn't matter to me. I thought nothing different about her, not in the least.

Even though we had never discussed having a life together, it was now impossible for her to have anything more from me than what we currently shared. The next time I saw her was when I visited her home for supper, when her father made the decision for us regarding any future between us. I never saw her again until the night I delivered the travel documents on what would be my final visit with her.

"I find it ironic, Captain, how the situation was reversed between you and Adele. It was her father who judged you on your heritage, you were actually very accepting of theirs. You even put your life in danger to save them. It was truly ironic..."

"No more of this, Perkins," I said interrupting him. "Let the die lie in their graves peacefully. "I hold no ill thoughts towards her father." I slowly walked up the steps and touched the yellow paint, outlining the star with my fingertips. I could feel their presence here even though they were now dead in Poland. "Return me to the desert. My fate lies there, not here. France was never a part of me; I never belonged here, not even when I knew Adele." I abruptly turned and walked away from the house into the rain, without looking at it again.


	8. Chapter 7

He caught up with me at the top of a small rise in the desert. I paused to look out over the distance, catching sight of a group of Allied soldiers in front of us. There were two Jeeps stopped in a clearing with three men looking intently at maps. At first I thought it was the remaining three men of the Rat Patrol, but then I quickly realized that one was different and didn't belong. I recognized Moffitt and his driver Pettigrew, but not the third man. I turned to Perkins puzzled, my raised eyebrows asking the question.

"He is Lieutenant West," he answered.

"West, Lieutenant West," I repeated, trying to place the name. But I couldn't remember him. I turned again to ask for more information when Perkins anticipated my questions.

"You don't recognize him because you've never met him before, never had any direct contact with him," he explained. "You needn't worry about changing anything about his life. His fate remains unchanged despite you not being born. However, he was a key link for another event you did influence."

"Was? I assume by your use of the past tense he will not make it to the end of the war," I responded, trying to gather any details about West.

"No, he doesn't," confirmed Perkins flatly, without emotion. "According to my watch, he has about four hours to live," he continued, making a deliberate motion of looking at his watch and taping its crystal.

"He appears to be an American officer. What was my major influence regarding him if I've never met him?"

"You see, Captain," he patiently started to explain as he continued looking into the clearing. "It' not West that you influenced directly. Rather, it's the information he _knows_ that you impacted in your previous life. West was the one who originally informed Sergeant Moffitt about the contaminated plasma. Do you remember the incident?"

"Yes, of course. We had captured Sergeant Moffitt and my intention was to trade him for desperately needed medical supplies, including a case of plasma. To prevent us from taking it, Sergeant Moffitt destroyed it. We misinterpreted his actions and returned fire, enabling us to capture all the medical supplies. His actions were also misunderstood by a British major who turned him over for a court-martial. I confirmed on Sergeant's Moffitt's behalf that the plasma was indeed contaminated and he was released."

"And did you know for a fact that the plasma was tainted?"

"Only after we captured it. The plasma's condition was confirmed when it was transfused into three of my men who soon died from its toxicity."

"Didn't Sergeant Moffitt try to warn you about its danger, and try to warn the major?" I waited a few minutes before I answered his question.

"Yes, he did," I said slowly, not wanting to admit the difficult truth and its painful cost. "At the time, I believed Sergeant Moffitt was trying to trick me into not taking the plasma. The major didn't believe him, either," I added, seeking to justify my previous actions. Neither of us said anything for a several minutes until he finally broke the silence.

"It was rather interesting of you to exchange Moffitt for the medical supplies, especially since you had tried to capture one or any of the Rats for quite some time. You were in a strong position regarding his capture; the area where you were holding him was deep within German held territory. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, for Sergeant Troy and the two other Rats to rescue him. Why did you exchange him for the supplies?"

"Our medical situation was dire. I had men dying who easily could have been saved with just the most basic of medical supplies. As much as I wanted to put an end to Sergeant Moffitt and strike a major blow against the Rat Patrol, it was more important to save my men. When I obtained the map showing the medical supply convoy route, I didn't hesitate to act on the knowledge." A thought suddenly crossed my mind.

"I assume that since I am no longer there to capture the medical supplies and plasma, my men will no longer die from its use." At least there was something positive to come out of the new train of events.

"That's true, but do you realize that all the other German soldiers who were saved by the captured medical supplies will now die?"

"No doubt their deaths will be offset by the saved Allied lives who will now receive the supplies," I countered, analyzing the situation.

"Sorry to be the one to break the bad news to you, Captain, but that won't happen in the least. None of the medical supplies will be used by the Allies, either. You see, Sergeant Moffitt will now proceed to destroy all of them. Not so much as a cotton dressing will survive his attack." His words surprised me. I couldn't understand why Moffitt would destroy all the supplies. The plasma yes, but I was unaware of any of the other supplies being tainted.

My thoughts were interrupted when the group was fired upon unexpectedly by a patrolling German column. The three had been so intent on their discussion they hadn't heard the Germans' approach. I thought it unlike Moffitt to make such a basic mistake as to leave them uncovered in the open; I always believed he was the more cautious of the two Rat Patrol sergeants. It was a costly mistake for him to make. West was hit in the opening salvo and even from this distance I knew he had been mortally wounded.

"I assume that Sergeant Moffitt will no longer be captured by my men, since I wasn't there to give the order for them to patrol in this particular area," I said loudly, trying to be heard above the sound of the firing.

"You are correct, but you will witness Sergeant Moffitt's updated destiny regarding the plasma. He has still assumed the tremendous burden of warning others about its state, but now he will be forced to use extreme methods to accomplish this, before your original actions influenced the outcome."

We watched Moffitt drive frantically away while Pettigrew helped the injured West into the other Jeep. Perkins began calmly walking down the road with his shoulders slumped, as he motioned for me to follow him. I quickly caught up with him, and as we rounded a bend in the road, we saw the British convoy, already stopped by Moffitt who was fanatically intent on his mission. Over the still air, we could hear him arguing with the major.

"Sir, what do I need to do to convince you that the plasma is contaminated?"

"Show me the documents from West," replied Major Bracken logically in his precise voice. Apparently, he didn't believe Moffitt anymore in this version than he had in the original one.

"As I've already explained to you, Sir, there are no documents. Lieutenant West was in an extreme hurry, there was no time to prepare any official paperwork. He thought it critical enough to deliver the news in person without the supporting documentation."

"You expect me to destroy all the plasma on just your word?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It is the only logical course of action given the information," Moffitt said, exasperation clearly in his voice.

"That's a rather bold statement coming from you, Sergeant, and I must say that I don't care for your tone of voice."

"Sir, I don't mean to be disrespectful but the situation is critical. There has to be other means to prove it's toxicity to you. Do you have any testing equipment available?"

"We are an emergency field hospital; we have no extensive testing equipment available. Unless you can provide some additional concrete evidence to prove your opinion, I have no choice but to disprove and ignore it. Yes or no, do you have any proof of its toxicity?"

"Sir, as I've already…"

"As I thought," Bracken said as he smoothly interrupted Moffitt. "Now please move your vehicle. We must to be on our way; you have already delayed us for far too long." The major stood for a moment waiting for Moffitt's salute, which he gave reluctantly, and then turned to leave.

I was shocked at Moffitt's next action. He proceeded to draw his weapon and even from my distance I could hear the collective gasp of the other British soldiers. I surmised they didn't open fire on him given that the major blocked their line of fire. I had to give the major my respect for standing his ground. His swagger stick didn't as much as twitter a fraction when he saw Moffitt draw his weapon.

"Sir, please order the men in the medical truck to vacate it. They are then to unload the plasma and place it in the clearing. The remaining supplies can remain on the truck. It is only the plasma I want."

"Sergeant, have you gone mad?" asked the major in disbelief. "Do you honestly believe for a moment I will give such an order?"

"If you don't then I will."

"And if I don't?" countered the major, standing his ground.

"It doesn't really matter, Sir. The final result will be the same."

"Stand fast!" ordered the major to his men, refusing to give the order Moffitt wanted to hear. He then again turned to Moffitt.

"Do you realize the consequences of your actions?"

"Sir, it is because I realize the consequences of not acting that I'm willing to take responsibility for what I must do. Since you are unwilling to give the order, I will take responsibility. Now please stand back."

In a graceful cat-like jump, Moffitt proceeded to leap on the Jeep and arm the 50 caliber machine gun mounted on the back. The soldiers instantly understood and believed his deadly intent and immediately jumped from the medical truck. Moffitt proceeded to open fire and it took only a few moments for the truck to be destroyed, along with its life-giving and death serving supplies.

When it was finally destroyed and he knew nothing would be salvageable, Moffitt stopped firing and stepped away from the weapon, placing his hands in the air. He was immediately brought down by several soldiers and dragged to where the Major stood. The Major looked at him for several seconds trying to make sense of his actions before he firmly ordered him to be arrested.

"You can't blame me for this turn of events," I finally said. "It was the major's disbelief. Put this on his shoulders, let him be responsible for your sorry excuse of a second act. He should have taken Sergeant Moffitt's warning seriously," I said forcibly, trying to justify the situation.

"You didn't believe him. Why are you holding the Major to a higher standard than yourself?"

"Because I was the enemy! I would expect Sergeant Moffitt to tell me a falsehood about anything which could aid the Wehrmacht," I said exasperated. I stood glaring at Perkins before I was able to calm myself down and continue thinking rationally. "My current thoughts are regarding Sergeant Moffitt. He's a good soldier and took a tremendous risk for both sides. What is to become of him?"

"In this current turn of events, he will be reduced in rank to corporal. His punishment could have been much more serious, but his language skills and knowledge of the desert were sorely needed by the Allies. Unfortunately, his demotion will devastate his family. His father will be deeply shamed of these proceedings and won't have anything to do with him."

"Surely the British will come to understand the cause of his actions. What about Private Pettigrew? He was with Sergeant Moffitt when Lieutenant West told him about the plasma. Is he called to testify on Sergeant Moffitt's behalf? Is there any proof or documentation from where Lieutenant West received the information?" I found myself grasping at straws for Moffitt's sake.

"Pettigrew does testify at the proceedings, but who is going to believe an American private about such a serious act? In fact, Pettigrew is sanctioned for perjury. The board came to believe he lied to save Sergeant Moffitt. They presume that the chain of command had been broached between the two of them and they have possibly even become friends. And since Sergeant Moffitt had destroyed the plasma, there was no evidence available for testing to confirm his belief."

"This is so ludicrous. You can't possibly expect me to believe this will happen. It goes beyond common sense. I would think the British would be more methodical in their dealing with Sergeant Moffitt."

"Then see for yourself," he said quickly, walking away to a group of buildings in the center of town. We entered one of the rundown provincial buildings the Allies currently held. The building had definitely seen better days; it appeared little effort was made to maintain the structure given that it once again could be held by the Axis given the fluid condition of the front.

Perkins took the stairs two at a time and I followed close behind him. At the end of a short hallway, we walked into a makeshift courtroom on the second floor. Moffitt stood at attention, and it seemed odd for me to see him without the ever present beret. He was wearing a British regulation uniform, so different from what he usually wore in the field. In the back of the courtroom, I spied Troy almost squirming at the proceedings, waiting for the verdict to be announced.

I was on the opposite side of the courtroom so it was difficult for me to see how the proceedings were impacting Troy. I realized he was fiercely loyal to his men and I knew he must be indignant regarding the charges against Moffitt. From what little I could view of him, it appeared that his persona and appearance had somehow slipped. I couldn't place exactly how, but he seemed to have somehow lost the edge he always seemed to possess when I had fought against him.

"This court finds you guilty of willfully destroying medical supplies deemed necessary for the war effort," said the magistrate flatly, without any emotion. I could see Moffitt stiffen ever so slightly at the pronouncement. "You will be reduced in rank to corporal with a corresponding reduction in pay. Given the necessity of your skills in this particular theatre of war, you will immediately return to your unit and continue with your assigned duties."

"Sir," Moffitt said with a slight nod of his head. There's something to be said about the British stiff upper lip and Sergeant, no make that Corporal, Moffitt was the personification of this trait. As much as a stickler as I was for protocol and respect regarding one's superior officers, especially in official situations, I don't believe even I would have taken the verdict as calmly as he did. Now, Troy's reaction was in a different category altogether.

"This is an outrage! Have you all lost your minds?" yelled Troy jumping up from his seat in the rear of the court. "How can you possibly do something this asinine?" There was an immediate stirring in the court, as everyone turned to look at him, shocked at his outburst.

"You are to be removed from these proceedings immediately," proclaimed the officer in charge without hesitation. Troy was immediately hustled outside, still protesting the verdict. When quiet had once again settled over the room, the magistrate formally announced, "These proceedings are now finished."

I stood in the courtroom for another moment watching Moffitt. He finally exited, walking directly past where I was standing. His chin was up just a tad, but his eyes seemed flat and somewhat empty and distant. I could have sworn I heard Troy far off in the distance still protesting the results. I finally noticed Perkins beside me and he silently motioned me to also exit.

We left the courtroom and exited back down the stairs, not saying a word. Outside, I slowly walked with my hands behind my back, observing the everyday life which existed around me. Everything seemed so normal from what we had just witnessed. The streets had a mixture of Allied soldiers and natives and I even spotted an occasional nun walking by, suffocating in her black habit. They all had a purpose in life, knew where they were going, and thought they knew what would happen in their life. How innocent and naïve they all were in a world they knew nothing about. After several minutes, I finally broke the silence.

"Do you have anything else to show me? Or have we finished?" I asked Perkins. The three episodes I had witnessed were disquieting to me. I never would have imagined the events happening to those surrounding me due to my disappearance. "If we are finished, then return me where you found me," I said coolly accepting my fate. I was starting to become uneasy from what I was witnessing.

"No, Captain," he said sadly. "I'm not finished with you yet. There is so much more to show you your impact in this lifetime. Yet I will only have the time to show you a small fraction of it all. Let's be off before it's too late for you." He slowly started to walk up the street. I gave one final glance at Moffitt as he retreated into the distance, and then I caught up with Perkins in a few steps.


	9. Chapter 8

I could see the desert expanse beginning to be marred by what had been a recent battle. There were no buildings of any kind disturbing the vast battlefield: it was pure and open, only the terrain offering any opportunity for the strategist, the one who wanted to control this expanse of nothing which appeared to have so little to offer except sand and dirt. However, I saw what few others could or wanted to see. I could see how the desert offered the insane opportunity to fight against honorable enemies, those seeking this same irrational obsession no normal man would desire.

I observed that we were on the battlefield's edge. Only the battle's remnants were to be seen: the occasional destroyed vehicle, abandoned equipment hastily stripped off, acrid smoke from burning fuel, a body yet not buried. As we progressed through the battlefield, the debris became more and more frequent and the fallen bodies began to multiply. All the bodies had been equalized in death, both British and the German, both having reached the identical conclusion.

I felt my senses sharpen as we continued to walk deeper into the battlefield. My pulse quickened even as I felt a deathly calm come over me. I always felt this dichotomy when I went into combat: the adrenalin rush while at the same time I became insanely analytical and focused on the battle at hand. It was my resources and ability against those of the enemy, only one of us destined to succeed. I always came to fight, and I always came to win.

This time, Perkins didn't have to ask me if I recognized the location; I knew it instantly. My eyes swept the territory taking in the few natural landmarks, the sparseness of the land and the wide expanse of the desert. I only had to close my eyes for the briefest of seconds to see the entire Battle of Jufra in my mind, replaying itself from not too long ago in the past.

My orders had been to hold our left flank at any cost. It was critical for the success of the battle and the control of the desert by the Afrika Korps. As the battle progressed over the following days, "at any cost" became more and more a reality for me and the men I commanded. We were horribly outnumbered not only in men, but also in equipment and fuel.

The fighting was intense and we began to take heavy losses, losing panzers and men, with few supplies remaining. We were suffering losses at an alarming rate which we could no longer sustain, placing our position in serious jeopardy. Our radio communications had also deteriorated: we were able to receive but unable to transmit anything regarding the seriousness of our position. We were forced to resort to couriers until they too, could no longer get through.

Our situation started to become desperate on the second day, with the British threatening to break through imminently. This reality gave us the motivation we needed, what was required from us in order to survive and live and fight for the next battle, to finally capture and control the desert for us alone. It quickly became evident that I would have to use extreme initiative or we were all going to be lost: probably in death, perhaps remotely as prisoners.

It was at this moment in the battle I gave the order to attack, ordering what remained of my men forward. I believed at the time we had nothing left to lose at that moment except our lives, I remembered with a small smile. It completely disoriented the enemy; they must have thought we had gone insane to attack under such conditions and at such a disadvantage. Looking back, there must have been a part of me which indeed went insane during those intoxicating hours.

We caught the British completely off guard and were able to repel their advance and push them back behind their original lines. We fiercely advanced against the enemy gaining territory previously not held by us. We were no longer courageously defending something that would have meant nothing to any sane man; we wanted to command all off the desert and the little that it offered.

I received word soon after that Hauptmann Walther's command had been cut off and was in danger of being surrounded. This would seriously weaken another park of the flank, probably causing it to collapse. Without even thinking of our own situation or giving it a second thought, I ordered my men to his area to aid his position and continue attacking the enemy without a respite. By pressing the attack so aggressively, we were able to push the British significantly back, secure the area and most importantly, relieve Walther.

The loss for both our units had been severe, but the flank had been held and my actions were credited with being a major reason for the Afrika Korps winning the battle. When we were finally relived, they were astounded that any of us had survived such a fierce combat. Due to the lack of communications, my superiors had feared the worse, but were amazed that the flank had continued to hold.

It wasn't until afterwards I realized I had been severely wounded. In the heat of the battle, I had felt the bullet hit me but I thought I had been merely grazed. I hadn't even bothered to look at it or give it a second thought. It wasn't until I confirmed our area and Walther's was secure and the wounded taken care that I was able to stop focusing on the battle. Finally, I allowed myself the luxury of collapsing to the ground. It took me over a month to recover from the wound and the resulting infection caused by it.

It was when I was recovering I was informed I would be awarded the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, a succession from the previous medals I had earned. It was a significant honor which filled me with pride. However, it was something which I never spoke about unless someone inquired about it specifically. When I was asked, I would answer in the briefest of sentences before I would discreetly change the subject. I believed to say any more would have been boastful and disrespectful to all of those who did not return, the Germans as well as the British. I never even mentioned it to my family until they contacted me about it months later.

My father first learned about it through his military contacts and again when it was reported in the newspapers. Although my entire family was pleased of the accomplishment, I knew my father was especially proud that I had upheld the family's military tradition and honor to such a high level.

Frankly, I always felt like an imposter and that the honor was misplaced, honestly believing that I didn't deserve what had been bestowed upon me. My men deserved the honor so much more than me for the punishment I forced them through for those long days. I had only been the one to make a decision at the moment it was needed most. And as for taking a victory drink from my stash of Jack Daniels (almost two bottles full at that time), it never even crossed my mind.

It was Rommel himself who presented me with the medal given the distance we were from Berlin. The severity of my injuries prevented me from traveling and I seized on this as an excuse to stay in Africa to receive the award from him. Frankly, I preferred Rommel to be the presenter and not a Nazi official. I always felt honored to be in his presence, to be a part of his command, to see his thoughts in action. He had a strength about him, and I looked up to him as someone more than a leader. I had nothing but the highest respect for him, as a soldier and for everything he had accomplished here and previously in Europe.

"If I had more mad men like you, Hauptmann, the war in North Africa would have already been decisively won by Germany," Rommel said lightly when he presented me the medal.

"Sir, I did nothing…" I began to say before he silenced me with a wave of his hand.

"Hauptmann, not a word. Enjoy your moment. You've earned it and you deserve it. There are others who have received awards who shouldn't have," he said pointedly, the details understood but left unsaid. "Now, I would be honored if you would dine with me this evening."

Standing now in the Jufra battlefield again, it was the first time I had been here since the battle had occurred. I had never even visited it in my dreams, something I always felt sadly cheated about. Oh, I had dreamed about the other battles I had fought in, here and in Europe, and yes, I had even, unfortunately, dreamed about the Rat Patrol, but I never dreamed about Jufra. It was my fate in life to only experience its moment that one time.

I opened my eyes, returning to the present. I found myself placing my hands on my hips, surveying the damage stretching out in front of me. Even though I recognized the battlefield, it was different; in fact, it had drastically changed. I saw with a clinical eye that there was more death and destruction strewn across the battlefield than when I had originally fought here.

"You know where you're at, don't you?" Perkins asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

"Yes," I said simply, not elaborating.

"It is here you received your Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, correct?" he continued pursuing answers.

"Yes," I again replied simply. But now I knew everything was different, this part of the desert wasn't the same as it was before I made my selfish wish. I frowned with displeasure knowing that the scene was altered, out-of-place and disjointed.

"I take it that the men of my command are dead," I said frankly to Perkins.

"A few of your command survived and were captured by the British, but yes, the majority are dead," he responded bluntly.

"And Walther's command?" I already suspected the answer but also needed it to be confirmed.

"They are all dead, including him," he replied again frankly. "Either here on the battlefield or in a field hospital." I felt an immense feeling of loss and sadness descend upon me. With such a great effort, all of us had accomplished so much with so little. The men who had caught my madness and savored its intoxication were now dead, dead due to my selfish desire to escape the reality of facing my own death.

"With the turn of events their deaths then must have been an advantage for the British," I said sarcastically.

"Actually, it wasn't. I realize that this is counter intuitive, but they actually lose more men without you being here. The British had to take your position along with Hauptmann Walther's which resulted in additional casualties for them. Afterwards when the German command realizes the two positions have fallen, it also sends in additional men to reinforce the flank. Many of those reinforcements are now killed. It's like a domino chain, Captain. You not being here started an unfortunate chain of events which couldn't be..."

"I believe I understand the concept, Perkins. It is not necessary for you to explain it to me like a school master," I interrupted him curtly.

I resumed walking and it was then I saw Matthias Walther sprawled dead against the desert. I went and stood over him, remembering our friendship. I had known him for quite some time, our friendship dating back to when we had attended the academy together. We were complete opposites and yet we had become close friends. He was short, stocky and blond and had the most outgoing personality of anyone I knew. Even during the most difficult situations, one could never be stressed around him.

We often visited clubs together when we were off duty and he was always trying to impress the women he met there. He would often have me quickly sketch a woman's portrait and palm it off as his own, saying that he had been admiring her from across the room and wanted to capture her likeness forever and how about a date in the meantime? A few times he was promptly slapped, which he took in good humor, but he normally was fairly successful with this ruse.

On one particular occasion I practically twisted Matthias' arm into joining me at a club even though he was dead on his feet from pulling an all night duty. After being there for only a few minutes, he again spotted a woman and had his usual request of me, pointing out with a grin that I owed him immensely for even being there. It was ironic of all the sketches I drew in my life, this was the one that really mattered, and the one that meant something more than just marks on paper.

When the two of them later married, I was honored to be his best man at their wedding. They would frequently joke that is was due to me and my sketch which had brought them together. Ironically, Margot discovered the deception on their honeymoon when she seductively asked him to sketch her again and he produced what basically amounted to a childish stick figure. Their marriage was truly a happy one and they had three beautiful children together in rapid succession, all just as boisterous and rowdy as their parents.

"Since I wasn't there to bully him to visiting the club that night and to give him the sketch, I assume Matthias doesn't marry Margot," I said sadly. I had always thought of her as the female equivalent of Matthias, so full of life.

"You are correct. She will marry a different man."

"Then I pray she is truly happy," I replied sincerely. "If not with Matthias then a man of his equal." I sincerely hoped she had found love and happiness with someone else if she was now not destined to be with Matthias.

"Well, I don't believe her new husband is quite Matthias' equal. You see, he is quite violent towards her," Perkins elaborated. I turned to him suddenly, not believing what I had heard.

"Are you suggesting that her new husband abuses her?"

"I'm not only suggesting it, I am confirming it. He beats her very frequently, among other things, some even worse. It's a tragic situation for her. She and Matthias were truly a loving couple; they had created a very happy family and life together."

"Their children are also gone?"

"Of course they are gone; how could she have children with Matthias if they never met? She does become pregnant from her new husband, but he beats her so severely she ends up miscarrying the unfortunate child. When he rapes her later, she becomes pregnant a second time, but she has an illegal abortion which renders her unable to have children in the future. In that aspect, she and her future unborn children are fortunate."

"A tremendous loss," I responded sadly. "Any man should be grateful to have Margot as his wife and have her give birth to his children, and I include myself in that category."

"Why do you say that, Captain? Is it because you coveted your neighbor's wife?" he asked shrewdly. I whirled to face him, my eyes blazing and I began to fiercely deny his accusation, but I forced myself to stop. He knew the truth, something I had never confessed to anyone, not even to a priest. It was something difficult for me to even admit to myself.

When Matthias and Margot met, I had been at a crossroads in my life, a time when I had wanted to finally settle down and have someone by my side. I had been lonely and melancholy at times before the war, even given the number of women I had known. I had wanted a greater commitment in my life than just to the Wehrmacht. I always believed Margot was the woman I could have easily shared the joy of life with together.

I was truly happy for them as a couple, but at times my thoughts drifted towards her at inopportune times. There was a part of me, a big part, which believed I loved her and which I continued to deny. I was envious of Matthias at times, wishing I had been the one bold enough to approach Margot on that fateful night, the man to have married her.

Eventually, I stopped seeing them together as a couple and only saw Matthias alone. Soon after, I volunteered for a distant duty station, wanting to put her at a distance from me. I no longer trusted myself to be in her company, even with others in our midst. If she had given me even the slightest encouragement, I knew I would have been unable to prevent myself from following through on my desires with her. I needed to walk away from her; my heart and honor were on a line I would not allow myself to cross.

"As much as I wanted to, I never acted on my thoughts or desires, never once acted inappropriately towards her," I finally responded, not wanting Perkins to fully know my inner turmoil regarding her. "She was the wife of one of my best friends and I had too much respect for the both of them to even remotely pursue any of my thoughts," I said, in a measured voice, choosing my words carefully.

"Did it cross your mind not to save him at the Battle of Jufra? His death would have made the situation rather convenient for you," he asked, completely catching me off guard. I was appalled at his suggestion.

"It is to your advantage for you to already be dead, Perkins," I said with my voice never rising. "If you weren't, I would kill you without any qualms for suggesting I would contemplate allowing Matthias to die in order to win Margot. As a German officer and as a man, I would never allow my personal desires to dictate my actions in combat. Even given what I know now, I would still do everything within my ability to save him at Jufra. However, if he had been killed during the war, I would have willingly married Margot and raised their children as my own,"

"That will never happen given the change of events, Captain," Perkins said frankly. "Besides, there was always someone else meant for you. Margot was meant only for Matthias, and now, neither one of you will have her. She belongs now to a third man, an odious man who will continue to abuse her, even after the war since he, too, will survive it." I quickly walked away from him, angry at myself for what I had caused to happen.

An entire family gone, it no longer existed due to my selfish desire. They all deserved better than this. Except for Margot, they were all no longer alive: one dead at my feet and the other three never born. Even for her I wouldn't consider her as being alive: she merely existed. If I had been there, I would have offered her protection and any type of assistance I had within my power, but now, there was nothing I could do for her in the slightest.

Suddenly, I spotted a slight movement out of the corner of my eye and quickly turned to see what it was. A British soldier, partly covered by debris, was trying to sit up and bring his weapon up to shoot me. My appearance must have been odd and out of place to him: a German officer walking the deserted battlefield in his dress uniform, unarmed with a scraggly British soldier for his companion.

He looked at me with calm eyes, without any fear, before he finally dropped the weapon, unable to hold it up any longer. He then sunk back down to the ground, without making a sound. I looked at Perkins, unsure as to how the soldier would be able to see us.

"I don't understand, this battle happened over a year ago. If both of us are not alive, how is he able to see us?" I asked Perkins, confused.

"The man is dying. He is at the tipping point when he is between both worlds: the living and the dead, the past and the present."

"Why is he still here on the battlefield? Why wasn't he retrieved by the medical corps? If not by the British, then by the German? Our doctors would have treated him."

"I don't have an answer for you; he must have been overlooked or mistaken for dead. The final result is the same," Perkins said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Have I come across this man in the past? From somewhere here in the desert or perhaps from the European campaigns I fought in?"

"No, you have never met him until now. Your actions will only impact him now at this particular moment in time."

"Why am I witnessing his final moments? Everything else you've shown me is how things have changed without me being alive. This is different; it is in the real and the present, yet at the same time, it is something that has happened in the past." I looked at him intently, but he merely returned my gaze, declining to respond. Realizing he would not provide me answer, I turned my attention to the wounded soldier.

I moved closer to the soldier confirming to him with my open hands that I was unarmed, not wanting to alarm him during his final moments. I glanced around for a water source and finally spotted a canteen nearby. I retrieved it and knelt in the sand next to him, lifting his head to enable him to drink the water. He looked at me with large eyes, dark and trusting, not saying a word, weakly nodding his thanks. When he was finished, I lowered him back to the sand to examine his wounds.

He was about my age and I could see by his insignia that he was a sergeant. I looked for his identification tag and saw that his name was Lyon. He was severely wounded, shot twice in the lower torso with a large, ragged gash down his left side heavily infected with dirt and sand. After quickly examining him, I could tell it was already too late for him to be saved. I had seen too many men in his condition to mistake the obvious signs of death. I looked up at Perkins and gave a slight shake of my head as I gently smoothed Lyon's uniform back into place with my hands. When I was finished, Lyon looked up at me and spoke softly.

"Would you light me a fag?" He must have seen the puzzled look on my face because he gave a short laugh and then clarified. "A cigarette." I automatically went to my pocket where I kept my cigarettes before I remembered I had smoked my last one this morning. I shook my head indicating I didn't have any. He motioned to his pocket and I pulled out a pack of cigarettes along with his lighter.

I placed one between the man's lips and lit it and he indicated for me to join him. I lit one for myself and the two of us sat there quietly smoking, looking at the horizon partially hidden by the haze from the burning vehicles. It felt odd yet at the same time comforting for two enemies to sit side by side sharing something as simple as a cigarette, sharing a man's last moments of life. When we were finished, I started to return the pack and lighter to him, but he gestured for me to keep them.

"No, please keep them, I certainly have no more use for them. The lighter was a gift from my father when I graduated from Cambridge. Perhaps, Captain, it will bring you greater luck than it brought me." The lighter was a beautiful piece of workmanship, obviously expensive, with his name engraved on it. I started to protest, but he silenced me with a weak shake of his head. I was very touched by his gesture since I firmly believed personal belongings should be returned to one's family. I finally placed them into my pocket without looking at them further. He then spoke to me for the last time.

"Captain, please shoot me. I'm ready to die," he said softly. "I don't particularly care to wait for the end of the day when I already know what it will bring me," he said in a precise upper class accent. He reminded me of Moffitt, with his dark hair and deep blue eyes. Here was another upper class Englishman who had decided to serve with the enlisted men, so different than the path I had chosen.

I was not surprised to hear his request. It was obvious from his wounds that he must be in excruciating pain and his eyes revealed he was serious about his appeal to me. I slowly stood up, my eyes never breaking contact with his. I finally broke away to where Perkins stood watching us.

"Perkins, you have the power, intercede on his behalf. Let him die peacefully now, without any further suffering," I asked quietly.

"Are you asking me to kill him?"

"I'm asking you to release his soul from his earthly body."

"There's nothing I can do for him. It's not his time. He will not die until sunset, at the same moment when you, too, leave this world and begin to walk the desert alone." I glanced up at the sun, which looked like it was approximately noon. I then responded to Perkins.

"The sun will not set for several hours. Are you saying that he will continue to lie here in agony by himself?"

"Yes," he replied without emotion.

I stood my ground with him, neither of us saying a word. I finally stepped away from him, returning to Lyon. He had heard our conversation, yet he continued to look at me calmly and without any fear. His eyes continued to tell me that he wanted me to follow through on what he had requested a few minutes earlier. I reached down and touched the sergeant's shoulder gently and then silently took his sidearm from its holster, verifying that it was loaded.

I stood up and quickly armed the weapon and aimed it at the injured man. I beganto pull the trigger, but before I could do so, Perkins placed his hand on my arm, gently moving it away from my intended target.

"Your action is not necessary, Captain. He's left us," he said quietly looking over to the man. Lyon's eyes were closed and all the agony and suffering had melted away from him. He had an incredible look of peace on his face and he could have been merely asleep.

I stood over him for a moment willing my pulse to slow, my breathing to become deeper and more regular. I finally bent down to replace Lyon's weapon, making the sign of the cross over him afterwards. I swiftly looked up at Perkins, questioning what had happened without saying a word, but he didn't provide the answer I was seeking. I stood up and began walking away, deeper into the battlefield where I felt I belonged, my hands behind my back.

"Captain, your compassion for the enemy is admirable," Perkins said, catching up to me.

"He wasn't my enemy; he was a fellow soldier," I replied tersely. "I only hope I would have received the same courtesy and compassion from my enemy on the battlefield in the same situation."

"You would have, Captain," he replied, pulling me to a stop beside a destroyed panzer. "In your final battle of the war, when you are fighting on the soil of Germany, when you are fighting for the sake of your final honor and your life, right before the long war finally comes to an end, the enemy was destined to come to your aid when you also were left on the battlefield to die of your combat wounds. You were going to receive the same compassion you demonstrated here, a few moment's ago, to your enemy."

"Since I'm already dead it doesn't really matter now, does it? So much for her prophecy of me dying at home with my loved ones around me," I said sarcastically with a cold laugh as I walked swiftly away.


	10. Chapter 9

The battlefield quickly ebbed and we were once again surrounded by the sparse expanse of the open desert. I walked in silence with Perkins, not wanting for the next event to unfold. We soon crested a rise where several German vehicles were waiting, concealed by the topography. I recognized several of the men, including the officer in charge, and I realized that they belonged to my former unit.

I quickly noticed that beneath the rise on the other side, were the scattered remains of a camp surrounding by some building ruins, various stunted desert plants and a small pool of water. The ruins and the camp appeared to be timeless. It was impossible to tell the last time anyone had been there; it could have been this morning or the last century.

Far in the distance, I could see four men staggering on foot as they approached us. They were struggling to hold themselves upright against the fierce heat of the sun. One would occasionally stumble and fall, only to be pulled up by one of the others who would instantly drop back to assist him. I immediately reached for my field glasses which I always kept around my neck, but of course, they were not there. I looked at Perkins, arching an eyebrow as I voiced my suspicions.

"I suspect they are the Rat Patrol," I stated to him. "Am I correct?"

"Yes," he replied, not bothering to elaborate.

"There are four men. Private Hitchcock?" I knew the answer, but I couldn't stop myself from hoping somehow his fate had somehow changed.

"No, he's still dead. Have you already forgotten what happened at the well?" Perkins asked frankly.

"No, I can assure you I haven't forgotten the incident," I said fiercely between clenched teeth. "I will then assume that another man has been assigned his duty."

"You take it correct. A Private Andy was assigned in his place. Not a bad replacement, but the original cohesion of the team is not the same. I believe you are familiar with your own replacement, the captain who now commands your men?" There was something in his tone of voice that caught me off guard and which I didn't particularly like. I turned to him for an explanation, but his face revealed nothing.

"Yes, I am," I replied tightly, distancing myself emotionally from the situation. It felt odd to witness someone else leading my men. It's never easy losing one's command no matter what the reason; even given the fact I had never been born. To lose my command and to have it returned to Wilhelm Meyer was especially galling.

"Yes, I am familiar with Hauptmann Meyer," I repeated briefly. "I assumed my current command from him. I would categorize him as someone I know only professionally; I would not include him in my circle of acquaintances," I said clinically, not wanting to admit the negative impact of seeing Meyer had on me. I would have recognized the wiry, blond bastard from across a battlefield bathed in smoke. To say that I loathed him was an understatement. I had forced myself to tolerate him professionally in my limited contact with him over my Wehrmacht career.

"Well, since you weren't alive to assume his command, he retained the assignment to capture the Rat Patrol. And if I may say so, his success record with the Rat Patrol is truly dismal," Perkins replied with a short laugh before becoming serious. "Unfortunately, his frustration will cause him to use more desperate and direct methods to bring their anarchy to an end. You see, Captain, not all officers in the Wehrmacht have your level of honor and respect towards the enemy," he said flatly, continuing to watch the men struggle ever closer.

"And all Allied officers keep their skirts neatly starched?" I countered without being able to stop myself, not wanting to seem even remotely of defending Meyer's actions.

"Of course not. But then again, the Allies weren't the ones to start the war and the actions of the losers tend to have more scrutiny than those of the victors."

I continued to watch the men stagger towards us, obviously in distress and in desperate need of water. The water! I quickly realized it was the key as to the unfolding events. I took a step forward, looking more closely at the pool of water below, so innocent and inviting. And then I realized what was going to come to pass.

"It's the water, isn't it?" I asked, turning towards Perkins. "This particular water hole was included with maps the Rat Patrol captured from a German courier. When I was originally present, my column didn't realize the water had been poisoned until we saw the dead animals lying nearby. The pool's poisoned status hadn't been noted on the map. I doubt if the cartographer even knew." I paused for a moment, remembering the event.

"He was the one to poison it, wasn't he?" I waved my arm directionally towards Meyer. "Meyer mentioned in passing when I assumed his command that he had poisoned some unknown water hole, one he thought the Rat Patrol might be using." Perkins just stood there, not answering my question, watching the Rat Patrol slowly approach. He continued watching for a few minutes before he finally answered.

"The water hole's poisoning will remain unchanged in history. It doesn't really matter, though, who performed the deed. It isn't the key issue in this episode of your life. The key issue is for you not being here to stop them from drinking the water," he said turning to look at me with a fixed stare.

"Me being here? Are you alluding that Hauptmann Meyer is going to allow them to drink the poisoned water? Even he wouldn't commit such an unthinkable act."

"I hate to be the messenger of bad news….Not only am I alluding to it, but I will confirm that is exactly what will happen when they arrive."

"They must be prevented from doing so," I said, my concern growing. But a part of me already knew the result before he confirmed it.

"As I have said previously, it's not my role in their life to stop them. That was _you_r role in life to perform." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I expected more from you, Captain, I really did. I thought you would have been a faster learner given what I have already shown you. It appears you haven't learned anything about how the world around you has now changed."

"You piece of fucking shit," I said menacingly, my anger and frustration beginning to rise.

"You surprise me, Captain. I didn't think you would say 'shit' if your mouth was full of it, and such a colorful adjective. Perhaps I'm beginning to witness a subtle change in your demeanor. Well, you know how the saying goes: Still waters run deep and your waters appear to be particularly deep."

"They deserve to die better than this way," I said angrily, trying to reason with him any way I could to prevent what I now knew as the inevitable. "At least allow them the dignity of dying in combat as soldiers, or have Hauptmann Meyer shoot them directly to recover the maps. They warrant a better death than this agonizing alternative." I stared at him as I said this, my hands clenched into fists.

"As with the situation at Jufra, there is nothing I can do," he said flatly, not even bothering to look towards me. I knew he was giving me the answer I didn't want to accept. I took a step towards the Rat Patrol, but I could only watch them helplessly. There was nothing I could do in my present form, nothing in the least.

I saw them fall down a final time and Troy managed to inspire them to their feet with the promise of the nearby pool of water. They rushed down the dune, mad with thirst, with what little strength they had remaining. They were so eager to reach the pool not knowing it was the deadly giver of life, so cool and inviting to them in their ravaged state.

I immediately recognized the other private, Pettigrew. His arm was still severely wounded, as it had been during this same encounter with me. I was amazed at Pettigrew's survival and firmly believed he was a living testament to Troy's leadership abilities. It was an outstanding feat for Troy to lead and inspire Pettigrew and the other men to survive under such trying circumstances. Despite myself, I found myself envying him yet respecting him even more.

The injured Pettigrew was the first to reach the pool and he frantically began drinking the water. Previously, my warning shot at this moment had prevented him and the others from drinking it. But now, there was now no warning shot, nothing to stop them from following their new fate in life. I could only stand here and watch helplessly as it all unfolded before me.

I was ashamed for the Wehrmacht's reputation that Meyer did not provide the same honorably courtesy to a fellow soldier as I had even if they were the enemy. As much as I had wanted to capture the Rat Patrol and put an end to their continued irritation in the desert, I never would have tolerated such methods under my command.

Pettigrew had already drunk the water when Moffitt spotted the dead animals hidden in the bushes. Meyer must have had them dragged out of sight so as not to alert the Rat Patrol about the pool's deadly contents. Moffitt immediately warned the others and pulled the private away, but I suspected it was now too late for Pettigrew.

"Does he survive?" I quietly asked Perkins. He looked at me with an infinite look of sadness on his face, before his gaze shifted to the men below. He then shook his head.

"Unfortunately, he doesn't survive. In fact, he will have an agonizing death and be gone before the sun sets. What a pity; he was a good man and a good soldier. But Pettigrew will still be the key to them escaping capture at this moment. He alone will have the unique skill needed for this situation which will enable them to escape. If you never knew how they escaped when you originally had them cornered here, you will soon discover their secret. It was quite clever."

Down below, I watched the Rat Patrol huddle together, trying to think of something, anything which could possibly help them survive and escape this desperate place. I could see Pettigrew beginning to exhibit signs of the poisoning. He began to retch, his body attempting to vomit up the poison but he was too dehydrated to even bring anything up.

"Sergeant Troy! Sergeant Troy! I demand to speak to you," Meyer called out. I almost laughed when I heard his choice of words. Demand something of Sergeant Troy? I could only imagine how the good sergeant would react to such a comical summons from the likes of Meyer. This should be interesting, I thought. Something I wouldn't dream of missing for the world.

I saw Troy slowly make his way to meet Meyer, who stood near another German soldier holding a white flag. Troy and Meyer came face to face, each inspecting the other, each one looking to gain control of the situation. Troy stood there with blazing eyes which continually swept the area looking for any opportunity to escape. I had a slight satisfaction when I noticed Troy's failure to salute the officer, a respect he had frequently given me.

"Inspecting my position?" Meyer smugly asked. "I assure you it is much better than yours. Would you like a drink of water?"

"Where did you get it, from the water hole?" I couldn't help but smile when Troy ignored the hauptmann's former question and instead chose to answer the later.

"I did what your forced me to do. I merely used it as a means to regain what I want. You have been a thorn in my side for far too long and today it will end."

"What was it you wanted?" Troy countered, not giving so much as a gnat's eyebrow. I stood there with my arms folded across my chest watching the interplay between them. There was a fiendish part of me that enjoyed seeing no one else gain the upper hand against Troy any better than I had.  
"That which I wanted before: the charts. Except now you are too weak to resist, especially the one man who drank the poisoned water. Give me the charts and I'll do what I can to save him."

"Yea, I bet you will. We'll let you know." Troy turned to leave when Meyer called after him

"Yes, you do just that, Sergeant. You do realize I could just kill you on the spot and take them," Meyer said with a menace. "It would be much easier than sitting here all day in the hot sun. Not to mention that it would send a clear message to your fellow commandos here in the desert." At his words, Troy made an exaggerated point of looking at the white flag, before turning back to Meyer and responding.

"I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you did that," Troy replied forcibly, not giving an inch. "All of you Kraut officers are the same: you talk about having a noble sense of honor, but I haven't come across one of you arrogant Prussian asses who actually take their oath as a German officer seriously.

"Now, you can go right ahead and kill me, but I'm already dead, so it really wouldn't matter in the least. And as for the charts? Let's just say that they'll be dead, too, dead as the water." He purposely turned and walked away forcefully without waiting for a reply, and I noticed again how he failed to salute Meyer.

I watched Troy return to his men, slumping down on the ground next to them. He appeared ready to drop from the physical and emotional strain. By chance, Troy glanced at the ancient fire pit and even from my distance I could see the inspiration light up his eyes like the brightest of flames.

I could only shake my head in disbelief as I observed the event unfold. As many times I had smugly believed I had finally captured the Rat Patrol, they had always managed to slip from my grasp. It seemed no matter how greatly I analyzed their strategies and predicted their actions, they were always still one step ahead of me in devising a new method of escaping. I occasionally speculated that the only thing preventing me from being sent to the Eastern front was the fact others had had even less luck than me in capturing and holding them.

Troy grabbed a forked stick previously used for roasting food and brought it close to Pettigrew, speaking rapidly. They started cutting up what appeared to be flat pieces of rubber along with their boot laces. What they were crafting appeared to be very simple and I couldn't imagine how it would help them escape from Meyer.

I could see Pettigrew quickly becoming worse and Troy had to pull him to his feet when they were finished crafting the device. They circled behind one of the German vehicles, Troy having to half carry the private. The two crouched down and proceeded to set up what they had made. And then I knew how they had escaped from me originally and I couldn't stop myself from smiling. It was then I truly appreciated the resourcefulness of Troy, and a part of me believed even the devil himself would be unable to hold him.

Pettigrew loaded and then pulled back on the slingshot, Troy having to assist him due to his deteriorated condition. The simple slingshot fired, instantly bringing down a German soldier. When a second soldier went to assist him, Troy moved up silently behind him and brought him down quickly with his knife. Pettigrew struggled to his feet and forced himself to stagger to the German staff car.

They were both frantic for water and Pettigrew was able to find a canteen in the staff car. He attempted to swallow some, but was unable to hold any of it down and slowly slumped to the ground, accepting his end. With a resigned look to his face, he shook his head and passed the canteen to Troy.

With the tenderness one would give to a lover, Troy picked him up and gently placed him in the back of the car. He slowly climbed into the driver's seat and finally took a drink of the precious water. I watched sadly as Pettigrew began to convulse, foam forming on his lips. Troy then proceeded to quickly drive away, leaving the Germans stunned as to the turn of events, much as I had been.

I watched Troy pick up his remaining two men before he drove off leaving the Germans and us behind. It looked so odd to see Troy driving; I had always seen Hitchcock and Pettigrew handling the task. Those two were now both gone. Even if Troy made it to the Allied lines within the hour, I knew Pettigrew was too ill to be saved. Now only Troy and Moffitt remained from the original team I had known, and even they were not the same men I had fought with and against on so many occasions.

Meyer and the remaining Germans gave chase, but I knew they might as well try capturing the moonlight on a misty night. After just a few moments, Perkins and I were the only two remaining at the scene. I stood next to him, not knowing which words to say after what I had witnessed.

I finally walked over to the slingshot, still thrust into the ground. It was so simple and harmless looking, yet in the hands of Pettigrew, it had become deadly and had enabled them to escape. I stooped and picked it up, smiling as I did so.

"It's amazing the unique skills each man has which enables him to make a significant contribution to life," Perkins said simply. Pettigrew was the Rat Patrol member I had had the least contact with, but I had a new found respect for the quiet private. What else would I never know about him, or any of the others who had surrounded me in life?

"Yes, it is," I replied. I walked down to the ruins still carrying the slingshot. I stood where the Rat Patrol members had gathered their thoughts and successfully took advantage of the situation. I walked over to the pool, looking down into its depths. The water looked so calm and inviting. I stooped down, dipping my fingers into the coolness. I watched as the water fell from my hand, dripping onto the sand. I brought my fingers to my lips, feeling the water's coolness, but not allowing any of the drops to pass my lips. Finally, I allowed my hand to drop to my side and I turned to face Perkins.

"Captain, the water won't hurt you. It's unable to harm you in your current state. You may drink as much of it as you want."

"No, I don't want any of it. Earlier today I would have wanted it, but not now." I gave a short laugh before I continued. "I find it so ironic, Perkins," I said with clipped words standing there looking out at the desert with my hands behind my back. I could still feel the coolness of the water as my hand clasped the other.

"What is that, Captain?"

"I've tried to stop, capture, kill or do anything possible to end the Rat Patrol's reign for what? A year or more? All I was able to accomplish during that time was the assumed killing of one of their original sergeants. And to make my situation even worse, he was replaced by Sergeant, forgive me, Corporal Moffitt who knows the desert better than a native." I gave another short laugh at the irony. "Now, Hitchcock and Pettigrew are dead, Moffitt was demoted and Sergeant Troy seems to have lost his edge. I accomplished more against them by being dead."

"No, not _dead_. You were not _born_."

"Don't quibble with me regarding words, Perkins," I said crossly. "You know what I mean."

"Perhaps, but you're focusing on just one aspect. What about the girl in the well, your men saved by the medical supplies? You actually accomplished quite a bit working with and against them. All of that is now gone. Not to mention the men you saved at the Battle of Jufra. And what about my life, Captain? Beaten to death, half of the bones in my body broken. Would you like to see what I looked like when they were finished with me? When there was nothing else their imagination could possible do to me?"

I watched as he transformed into something unrecognizable: the face shattered with blood matted hair framing his face, his uniform stained black with dried blood, the limbs jaunting out at unnatural angles. I closed my eyes for an instant, to steady myself against the horror of the vision. I immediately opened them to accept the fact, but the vision was already gone and he had returned to his previous state.

I wanted to say something, anything to Perkins about what had had happened to him, what my absence had now caused to befall him. But I knew there was nothing I could say to take away any of it away. I stood there silently before I reached out and placed my hand briefly on his shoulder before letting it drop back to my side.

"Thank you, Captain," he said. "I know in the end it was not of your direct doing; they were the ones responsible. I find it amazing and pathetic the inhumanity we do to our fellow men as we pursue our earthly goals. They could have stopped my torture if they wanted to, but I don't think they had any intention of stopping. Even when they knew I would never tell them the maps' location, they continued. They enjoyed what they were doing too much. My death, along with all the others we've witnessed, was just an unknown impact due to your life disappearing." He looked out over the desert, lost in his thoughts, before he spoke again.

"Regarding what you just witnessed at the poisoned water hole, there is something else I believe you should know. It is a piece of information I neglected to mention earlier in the day when we visited the Jufra battlefield." I turned to him suspiciously, not knowing what more he could possibly add to the depressing situation here or what I had witnessed at Jufra.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, Captain," he said, looking me directly. "I'm very much aware of the hostility between you and Hauptmann Meyer. I know that your sister fell in love with Ellery over him before the war and how Meyer later tried to assault her one evening in a drunken stupor." He paused before he continued.

"You see, Captain, it is Hauptmann Meyer who will now marry and ravage Margot due to your wish of not being born."


	11. Chapter 10

"Captain, it is now mid afternoon and I will leave you after the sun sets. What else is there you wish to know in your remaining time?" he asked professionally, almost as if he was a tour guide asking me what sites I wanted to see. "It's time to continue moving. You'll have more than enough time in eternity to reflect the reality and impact of your wish. His voice startled me from my shocked and contemplative thoughts of what I had forced upon Margot.

"My family," I trailed off, remembering them, finally focusing on them after I had seen so much of my personal life. "You have shown me the impact my absence will have on the war effort, but nothing on how it will impact my family. It is critical for me to know their fates without me being born."

"You are a good soldier, Captain. You thought of your men, even your enemies, before your immediate loved ones. I must commend you for that." He started to walk away as he said this, looking out unto the sun a few hours from the horizon. I caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder turning him around to face me.

"My family, show me their fates," I demanded.

"Your family…" he paused to gather the right words, "will have a difficult time after the war. Only your mother and sister will survive. Your father will die near the war's end, fighting to defend Berlin against the Soviets."

"My father? You must be joking. He is almost eighty," I brushed off his words as nonsense. "He already served Germany in the last war, under the Kaiser. My father couldn't abide Hitler and all the warped Nazi ideals. He thought the Nazis had turned Germany into a caricature of itself. I find it hard to believe at his age he would give his life to fight for Hitler, for the Nazis."

"You were willing to fight for Hitler," he countered, trying to box me into a corner.

"Don't assume because I am a German that I am also a Nazi, that I support Hitler and his bastard ideology," I said angrily. "It is different for me than it is for those who so blindly follow him. My family had a long tradition of serving in the military and I felt myself bound by it to continue our obligation.

"I have always convinced myself I was serving Germany, not the Nazis. My military service is unfortunate when compared to that of my ancestors. I have the misfortune of serving in the wrong German military at the wrong time. I have done what I can to lessen Nazi directives without undermining my orders."

"Apparently, the obligation you speak of runs deep in the Dietrich family. Your father will serve Germany once again, at the end of this war. He will serve not to support Hitler, but for Germany, very much the same reasons as you have done. Since you are not present in this re-written version of life, he felt obligated to serve Germany again since the family had not contributed a man to the war effort.

"He will die in April 1945, trying to hold off the Soviet invasion and will be buried as an unknown in a mass grave. Your mother and sister will never know exactly what becomes of him after he marches away. Captain, if you haven't already surmised the war's outcome, Germany will lose this war, the same as it did the previous war."

I was shocked at the loss of my father. He had always been the rock and foundation for our family. I thought of him as someone bigger than life, someone I could not imagine as passing from life on this Earth. His death was difficult for me to accept, especially given that I was responsible for his demise. With his passing, my thoughts were focused on how my mother and sister were surviving. I could only imagine how they felt to be alone, just the two of them to support each other in these difficult times. If I had been alive, I would have been there to provide them some type of relief or assistance.

"You mentioned that my mother and sister survive the war. What becomes of them?" I pressed him.

"What I will show you of their fates will not be pleasant. Are you positive this is what you want to know?" I found myself becoming uneasy, but I was unable to stop myself from giving him a short nod. He looked at me for several minutes before replying.

"Then let me take you to them." He motioned for me to follow him and I soon discovered myself on a bombed out street, strewn with rubble. The destruction was devastating and almost complete; it was an exception for a building to be standing. I looked around to find a landmark and realized we were in Munich. Thank God, I thought. I believed this area would be more likely to be held by the Americans or the British.

Perkins stopped in front of a seedy building, heavily damaged but still standing. He motioned to a side door entrance, located in an alley way. The door opened to a narrow and dark stairway which reeked of urine and other foul odors. I started up the stairs and continued to climb until we reached the fourth floor and exited into a dark hallway. The carpet was tattered and I could see the occasional rat scurry across the hall. Perkins stopped in front of a doorway and gestured for me to enter.

"You mean to say that my mother and sister are living here, in some cold water flat?" I asked, pausing before I entered. "Our stables and kennels back home were a palace compared to this. My father would have horse whipped us if we had housed any of the animals in such poor conditions."

"Times are difficult after the war, your family is fortunate to have this place, even for what it is. Housing is at a premium," he said sadly.

"Our estate outside of Coburg, why are they not living there? Was it destroyed during the war? Or occupied by the invading forces? Given its location, I'm assuming it would probably be safe."

"No it wasn't destroyed or occupied and it will be located within the American province. Unfortunately, though, your mother was unable to keep the estate."

"I find that difficult to believe. My family had a significant amount of hard money in Switzerland: Swiss Francs, not Reich Marks. My paternal grandfather created a substantial trust fund years ago before I was even born. In addition, my mother brought significant funds to the family when she married my father. All of the funds were safe and viable in Swiss banks. I know the funds were still there and viable as of the last time I was home. Even the Nazis or the Allies would not have been able to seize the funds."

"When your father was killed, your mother could not prove his death amid the chaos after the war. The Swiss banks would not honor the accounts and seized the funds. Unfortunately, this will be a fairly common occurrence after the war. Your family will not be the only ones impacted by such unethical banking actions. To complicate matters further, your family was also denied entry into Switzerland in its attempt to prove its ownership of the funds. There was nothing your family could do when the funds were lost to them. They were left destitute."

He patiently gestured for me to enter again. Finally, I reluctantly opened the door and entered into a tiny, single room flat. It was dark and dingy and smelled of mold and rot. Light was emitted from a single grimy window high on the wall. My eyes automatically went to the ceiling which was severely stained with water marks. The only splash of color in the fetid place was a single pot of my mother's prized pink geraniums, yellowing and drooping for lack of sunlight.

I realized with a pang of sorrow that it had been over a year since I had last seen my family. My last scheduled leave had been abruptly cancelled and afterwards I had been recovering from an injury which lasted several weeks. There had been no time for me to return home and I was ordered to return to my unit in Africa. Yes, time had slipped away without me realizing its passage. As for my father, he had slipped away, too. I had forever lost the opportunity to see him again.

Across the room, I could see my mother and sister and I immediately went to them. I turned my attention to my mother, who was sitting in the only chair: a battered straight back located next to an equally scarred table. I stood quietly before her, and I could feel my face soften as a wave of emotions overtook me. She seemed so out of place here, in a situation I would never have thought possible even in my worst nightmares.

My mother, Alexandra, was still an attractive woman at sixty years of age, with a classic profile and alabaster skin. Her hair was fashionably swept up, but I noticed its light ash blond color was now heavily streaked with gray. She was tall and willowy and both my sister and I had inherited her light frame. She was the descendent of aristocracy and the way she carried herself one would never be able to doubt her heritage.

Cultured and educated, my mother loved the arts and our house was continually filled with music. I remembered her playing classical piano, softly with such emotion, her hands moving effortlessly over the keys. I would offer to play one of her favorite pieces and then frequently torment her by switching to American ragtime or jazz when she left the room. I would then swiftly revert to a classical composer when she was about to renter the room. With a cigarette dangling from my lips, I would innocently look at her as if nothing had occurred, allowing her to speculate about what she thought she had just heard.

She had received many suitors, rejecting them all until she met my father. There was something about my father, Erich, his self-confidence and maturity, which had won my mother's heart and soul and she wouldn't have anyone else despite the age difference. She had been significantly younger than my father, almost by twenty years, but one would never realize it when you were in their presence. Even though he was almost forty when they met, he had never been married before, except perhaps, to the army, as my mother would gently remind him.

My father was almost two meters tall, built solid as a bear, but without a gram of fat on him. As tall as I was, I always felt short standing next to him. He was a sight to be seen on a horse, and I firmly believed he would have put the fear of God into any man who had the misfortune to be on the receiving side of a cavalry charge he was leading. He had been highly decorated in the Great War, and was savvy enough to build up significant political and military contacts he maintained even after the Nazis gained power.

My parents had an extraordinary marriage, whose success and happiness I hoped to recreate in my own some day. I never remembered them fighting; strong words perhaps, but never a heated argument, not even during the difficult times after the last war. When I was a boy, I often would hear whispers from family members and friends which expressed the smug belief that one, if not both of them, would quickly fall into affairs given the age difference. But they proved all of them wrong with a strong marriage that would be envied by any couple.

Looking at my mother now in this squalid place, I could remember her dancing with my father in glamorous ballrooms at various social and official functions, a handsome couple owning the dance floor with their grace and strength. She once told me that women love to dance, and one of the surest ways for a gentleman to impress a lady was to be an excellent dancer.

She had taught me to dance and over the years I would often smile to myself about how she was correct. I never lacked for willing dance partners and if I may boast, I was an excellent dancer. I made a striking figure on the dance floor, holding the woman tight as I made her feel as if she was the only woman in the room. I frequently enjoyed dancing until dawn and then showing my guest the sunrise, sharing the last glass of champagne with her and savoring a final passionate kiss that neither one of us wanted to end.

Before the war, my mother had frequently reminded me to relax and enjoy life, to find the right woman and fall in love, politely not mentioning the constant parade of different women I seemed to have in my life. She respected and was pleased with my career choice (was it even a choice?) yet she wanted me to give my life to something other than just the Wehrmacht. When I would protest that I was happy with my life, she would laugh that musical laugh of hers and comment how I was just like my father. I would soon be his age but alone if I didn't heed time, she would gently warn me.

Our mother had insisted for my sister to attend a prominent college and to become formally educated unlike so many of the young women we knew at the time. She wanted my sister to study abroad to broaden her thoughts and opinions. She believed this would help her realize that the world had more to offer than the divisive promises Nazi Germany was beginning to serve the willing population in those early years.

My sister had eagerly attended St. Hilda's College and received a degree in literature. Like me, she also spoke several languages fluently and we used to enjoy discussing various books of classic and modern literature, playfully arguing various thoughts in different languages. I looked around the depressing room which was her current home and my immediate thought was that her degree had ended up being useless. All the education and knowledge she possessed were not valuable enough to ensure her a decent living.

I could see my sister at the far side of the room, combing her hair in front of a small cracked mirror. I recognized Liesl from the back even though she had lost a considerable amount of weight. I went and stood behind her as she did this most simple of tasks, seeing her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and I smiled at her even though she was unable to see me, remembering the lives we had shared together.

Except for our dark looks and keen intellect, we could not have been more different. She was outgoing and vivacious while I tended to be aloof and reserved. She had dozens of friends, both female and male, while I preferred to keep just a few close ones. I would joke with her that she had never met a stranger and she was forever inviting people she just met home for dinner and weekend events. People truly liked her and enjoyed being in her presence.

I always viewed her as my baby sister even though she was only three years my junior. We had raised havoc on my parent's estate together, running around like a couple of wild banshees when we were home on holiday from boarding school. We frequently only had each other to entertain ourselves and we would turn unruly when we were out of our parent's and servant's sights. Liesl knew that I held high standards for myself and I would not tolerate the weak and slow-footed if she should fall behind. Liesl easily kept up with me and I never gave it a second thought that she was a girl.

We made the most of our free time climbing trees, riding horses, running with the dogs and causing mischief. Unfortunately, it was my backside which normally paid the price for our naughtiness since it was unfathomable to my parents for a young lady to raise any type of mayhem or chaos. Liesl would stand there with round eyes, the personification of innocence while I was being dragged away by my ear for yet another round on punishment.

My mother whipped me herself personally when she caught me teaching Liesl how to smoke. I had picked up the habit at school and I thought it was my duty as her older brother to in turn introduce smoking to her. My mother detested the habit although she tolerated my father's occasional cigars and was always after me to quit. When she found out I was slipping cigarettes to Liesl, she was shocked at my brazen behavior and wanted to teach me a lesson I would never forget. I always found it ironic that it was my thrashing which inspired my sister to never touch a cigarette again.

I had never really noticed Liesl looks before and had always thought of her as a gangly colt until she later came home from college, a recent graduate. I was home on leave for her graduation party and went to meet her at the train station. I hadn't seen her for several months and I barely recognized the poised and suave young women who stepped down from the train, the one wearing the chic Chanel suit who had grown into those long legs.

I finally realized she had become a woman when she sent me in search of a glass of champagne at her party. I returned with one only to find her with a glass already provided by a suitor and the dawning realization she had politely tried to remove me from her presence. I didn't need to be told twice on how her life had now changed. She no longer needed me or our father to be her dance partner at events. I only had danced with her a few steps at her party before another man quickly cut in and took my place, leaving me to wonder what had just happened.

It seemed that every time I returned home I began noticing men flocking around the estate, vying to be near her and to have her undivided attention. What I hadn't recognized about her earlier, other men readily had. My friends, including Ellery, had also taken notice of her and they were always trying to finagle an invitation to visit on the chance of her being in her company.

I continued to watch Liesl as she combed her hair, looking at her face reflected in the mirror. I was surprised to see that she had bleached her dark hair a bright blond, an action I found puzzling. She had always liked her dark tresses and they had perfectly accented her features and skin coloring. Yes, I thought sadly. My father must be dead for her to have performed such a deed. He would not how allowed or tolerated the procedure even from her.

I saw the worry and stress etched on her drawn face accented by those blond, brassy locks. The light I was so used to seeing in her eyes had vanished and now her eyes were flat and dull. How life had now changed for her, my mother and father, for all of us. A thought crossed my mind and I quickly turned to Perkins.

"Ellery? Has my absence changed his fate?" I asked hopefully, hoping against the answer I already knew.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "That cannot be changed. He was already gone; your death does not change what has already happened to him. He is lost to her forever, at least in this world. She was destined to find another love, but that prospect will now not happen given the turn of events. No man will seek her regarding marriage now." I thought this an odd statement for Perkins to utter.

"How are they able to even survive in a place like this?" I finally asked, not wanting to accept Liesl's irrevocable loss of Ellery. He didn't say anything for several minutes and I was about to repeat my question when he finally spoke.

"Your sister does what she has to in order for them to live. She… 'sees' men," he voice hesitated, struggling to find the right word. "Your sister 'dates' men for money. Mostly American soldiers, they are the only ones with any hard money available after the war, but sometimes also the landlord to cover the rent. She has become a …" I immediately grabbed him by the throat with my hand and threw him against the shabby wall, holding him off the ground so his eyes were level with mine.

"You are quickly using up your nine lives with me, Perkins. How dare you suggest my sister would ever resort to such a thing," I said menacingly. His face began turning red and I could see him trying to say something so I slightly relaxed my hand allowing him to speak.

"This is not of my doing. I had nothing to do with the fate of her current life. I'm only stating was has come to be, nothing more, nothing less." He looked beyond me at her, with a look of compassion on his face.

"She would rather starve first before she would sell her body for money."

"That's true, she would. But she has your mother to look after and Liesl would not have her mother starve along with her." I released him and threw him to the ground as I finally heard my sister speak.

"Mother, I need to leave now for work," Liesl said with forced cheerfulness, looking at herself one last time in the small cracked mirror, doing a final touch up to her hair.

"Must you leave for work so late in the day? They work you such odd hours, my dear," my mother said understandably, not knowing the underlying reality of my sister's late departure.

"The hours are not too bad, Mama. I'm just happy to have a job and be able to earn something for us. Our situation will improve eventually and then I will be able to have a normal job, one with more standard hours," she said with a forced smile hiding her sadness. She walked past me with a determined step and I recognized the same strong set to her jaw and stubborn pride in her which I also possessed.

I followed her out the door, leaving our mother by herself in the fetid room. I watched my sister firmly walk down the hall and disappear down the same stairs I had climbed, her footfalls gradually disappearing into the darkness. I closed my eyes, having seen enough of their horrible future, forcing myself to gather my thoughts and strengthen my resolve.

I wanted to take both of them into my arms, to tell them everything would be fine: my father would not die in the final days of the war; I would survive and return home, they would not be destitute; my sister would not be forced to sell her body for the sake of their survival. Everything would return to normal as it was before the war. This life they were living was nothing more than a horrible nightmare, not only for them, but also for me. However, I knew all of this was now impossible. What I had witnessed on this day, not just concerning them but also all the others, was now the new reality of all of our lives. After several minutes, I realized Perkins had appeared by my side.

"You still have not showed me what happens to Sergeant Troy," I said strongly, forcing myself to place my emotions aside regarding my family. You have hinted several times that he is the other key missing link to all what surrounds me. You said he was not dead, I believe you said he was 'indisposed'. It is time for you to take me to him."


	12. Chapter 11

We descended the dank stairs, exiting back into the desert. We soon stepped into a small town far behind Allied lines where they had set up their temporary headquarters. It was odd to be surrounded by all ranks of Allied soldiers, going about their business as if I didn't exist. No one took notice of me walking down the street in my Wehrmacht uniform, with my hands behind my back, seeming as if I owned the town. I couldn't help myself but to look around, taking in the buildings and the amount of supplies, immediately analyzing weaknesses and areas open for the opportunity to attack.

Perkins stopped in front of a large building which had an American flag hanging from an upper story. I assumed it had been a local government building or town hall of some sort before it had been usurped by the Allies for their own needs. I stood next to Perkins for a few minutes and finally turned to him, wanting to question him about the delay, why he was hesitating to enter. He again had a look of infinite sadness on his face and I instantly knew that the fate of Troy I was about to witness would not be pleasant.

He finally gestured for me to enter and he then followed me into the building. The building welcomed us with a cool respite from the heat of the late afternoon and it was much quieter than the street scene outside. I automatically removed my cover and again waited for Perkins to show me which way our quest lay. He briskly walked up the stairs, and headed to the rear of the building, stopping in front of a large office with the name "Major Fowle" stenciled on the door.

"In there you will find your answer," he said quietly. I opened the door and stepped into a small ante office manned by a lone private wearing large, round glasses. He was surrounded by stacks of papers and forms piled unto every possible surface, even spilling onto the floor. I seriously doubted the private was the answer I was seeking so I continued walking past him, to the door I saw behind him. I paused for just an instant before I entered the far room, wondering what answers I would find there.

A major, who I assumed to be Fowle, sat behind a desk, intently working. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and even without him saying a word, there was something about him I instantly disliked. He had the look about him of an arrogant egotist, one of those behind the line soldiers who have never seen death on the battlefield, but who live for the pure joy of creating a death of paperwork for themselves and the unfortunate others caught within their sphere of control.

A part of me wanted to laugh as I stood standing over him, looking over his shoulder at his neat rows of figures covering the ledgers. No doubt he had been an accountant before he was drafted into the army, reveling in debits and credits as he marched them neatly into their orderly straight columns. I thought it ironic that all armies seemed to have these necessary evils of paper pushers who make everyone else's life miserable. I had had the misfortune to cross paths with his type a few times in the Wehrmacht and apparently the American army was not immune to their pestilence, either.

I glanced around his office to gain an insight into the man who would have such an impact on Troy. To say the office was sterile and cold would be an understatement. There was no adornment on the walls, nothing of a personal nature could be seen anywhere. There was only the all consuming paperwork: the offspring he relished producing, no doubt the life and soul of its proprietor.

His papers were placed just so on the desk; nothing would dare be out-of-order on the Major's desk. The filing cabinets were neat and orderly, and no doubt he could open a drawer and pull out the exact document he was seeking with his eyes closed. The only sound in the office was the methodical scratching of his pencil and the loud ticking of a clock behind him, marking time in a precise manner.

I knew better than to say a word in this mausoleum of an office so I just raised my eyebrows in a question to Perkins. He avoided looking at me and kept his gaze on the door. Suddenly, the door burst open and Troy made his long-awaited appearance. I finally was face to face with him, my enemy whose final fate was so inter-twined with my own. I felt that I had sought his destiny as much as my own throughout the stages of my journey.

I almost called out his name and involuntarily took a step towards him, but stopped myself due to my astonishment. He was not the Sergeant Troy I was used to dealing with during our many altercations in the desert. I barely recognized him due to his disheveled appearance. Even in the desert, in the most trying conditions, he had always kept himself and his men presentable. Now, he looked like hadn't shaved for several days and his uniform was stained and torn in several places, not from combat but from lack of interest and neglect.

He had changed immensely from the man I had come to know so well. I assumed the war was not going well for him emotionally and it was the reason behind his decline. He appeared to be immensely older, but not from the stress of war. No, it was an internal aging, coming from within which seemed to have affected him so greatly.

I surmised his deterioration was driven by the deaths of Hitchcock and Pettigrew along with the demotion of Moffitt. They had been an incredibly tight, successful team and no doubt he felt responsible for what had befallen them. Troy quickly strode past me, eagerly seeking the Major's immediate attention. My nose crinkled in surprise as he passed me; there was the strong smell of alcohol coming from him and to say that his gait was unsteady would be an understatement.

"I'm sorry, Major," the clerk apologized. "I tried to stop Sergeant Troy, but he managed to get past me. He wouldn't take no for an answer." I had to give the major my respect. During the sudden disturbance he didn't look up, didn't even seem to take notice of Troy or even of the private, for that matter. He continued to write and add his figures, and his lack of a reaction noticeably increased the tension level in the room. I found myself growing uneasy waiting for the confrontation to take place. Finally, the major spoke as he continued to write in his eternal book of figures.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Sergeant?" he asked calmly, finally looking up. Looking annoyed, Troy came to a half-hearted attention and performed a sloppy salute in front of the major's desk.

"Major, about the…" Troy started to say but was interrupted by the major.

"Sergeant, you've been told about your headgear several times in the past. It is not acceptable per regulation standards and I don't want to see it again. It's enough that I'm forced to tolerate Corporal Moffitt's beret and ascot let alone what you wear. You are expected to set an example to your men and to others."

At this I had to roll my eyes in sympathy, already feeling the sergeant's frustration at this paper pusher. Even the Wehrmacht wasn't this prissy and petty in the desert field of operations. Uniforms and appearance in the Afrika Korps were fluid given the realities of serving in an extended front and the constant supply issue. Personally, I couldn't imagine Troy wearing anything except his Australian Bush hat.

Troy readily earned my admiration for his perseverance. He pressed on, as if the major hadn't even said a word regarding his hat. Either he was used to the major's lectures or the alcohol had dulled his senses to such a level that he did not care. This time Troy spoke even faster to avoid being interrupted by the major again.

"Major, about the requisition for the replacement Jeep, what's its status? The temporary Jeep we're using is just not up for the type of orders we're given. It's continually breaking down and one of these days it's going to fail when we're surrounded by Krauts."

"Sergeant, may I remind you that there's a war on? You're not the only one submitting requisitions for processing. I can assure you that it is in the approval queue and you will be the first one to know once it is finally approved. In the meantime, you will just have to make do." He momentarily paused as he sniffed the air. "By the way, have you been drinking? I do believe I smell the distinct smell of alcohol about you." This idiot was just now noticing Troy's condition when his office now smelled like a distillery?

"I could be dead by then," Troy fairly shouted back, pointedly ignoring the Major's question regarding his sobriety.

"Well, your death will certainly speed up the process for the requisitions behind you in the approval queue. I'm sure their requestors would be most grateful for your demise," the major replied smugly with a smirk. My dislike for the major had grown to such a level that I would have gladly held him down to allow Troy to stuff his beloved paper requisitions down his thick throat. Troy glared at him before speaking.

"Alright Major, you give me no choice. Looks like I'll go figure this out on my own." He turned and quickly left, not bothering to salute and brushing past the private. I found myself holding my breath, wondering what Troy would to do to resolve the problem. I didn't have long to wait.

A few moments later, the private knocked on the door. Fowle purposely kept him waiting for what seemed an inordinate of time, but what was probably only a few minutes. Again, I could feel the tension immediately increase exponentially in the room. The private continued to knock and right when I thought he would take the initiative and walk in, the major called for him to enter.

"Yes, Private Lloyd?" he asked calmly. "Please don't tell me your interruption is in regards to Sergeant Troy."

"Sir, as a matter of fact it is."

"Well, just don't stand there like a cough drop, what is he up to now?"

"He just stole your Jeep, Sir. Took it from in front of the building and drove off with it. I guess he didn't want to wait for his requisition to be processed."

"He did what?" yelled the major, suddenly red in the face, losing all the cool, calm behavior he had thrown at the sergeant. I had to give the major credit for a second time. He moved a lot faster than I would have thought him capable of doing so. I don't believe even Jesse Owens could have beat him in the dash to the window. Fowle sprang up from his desk as if he was on springs and ran to look out the window before he whirled to confront the private.

"I said he…" began the private.

"I heard what you said," barked the major. "Don't you know a rhetorical question when you hear one?" The poor private knew better than to reply. I had been around officers my entire professional career and I have to say, Major Fowle would have won the prize for being one of the worst I've ever had the misfortune to come across. And this was just after a few minutes of my observation.

"Have you notified the military police?" Not receiving a reply, the major continued. "Do I have to think of everything? Go call them immediately; Sergeant Troy couldn't have gone far." The private fairly ran from the room and I could hear him in the next room, placing the call.

I would have placed even odds on Troy making a clean escape into the desert given his record of accomplishments, but apparently luck had turned against him. After all the raids he had successfully completed against me and others in the Wehrmacht, and all the times we were never able to retain him past sunset, he was caught soon enough by the Allies. Within a half hour, Troy made a second appearance in front of the major, this time accompanied by two burly military police. Troy was brought into the major's office and was forced into a chair in front of the desk.

"What the hell did you think you were doing? Of all the idiotic acts you could possibly think of doing," screamed Fowle as he stood over Troy, losing all the poise and confidence he had displayed earlier.

Troy just sat there, not saying a word, taking the major's verbal barrage. I was surprised at his meek and submissive behavior. This was not the Sergeant Troy I had known, the respected fighter I had fought against so frequently in the desert. The fight he had always displayed against me in combat was gone. I found it difficult to witness his humiliation; no man should be demeaned in such an insulting way. Finally, Troy looked up and spoke.

"I'm not feeling well, I think I'm going to be sick," he said flatly, barely able to be heard. Oh no, I thought. Not now, not here, not like this. I knew what was about to happen. I quickly looked over at Perkins, but he averted his eyes from mine, as powerless to stop the chain of events as I was.

"You're going to be a lot more than sick when I'm through with you," replied Fowle not understanding, or refusing to believe Troy's statement. Without waiting for anything else from the sergeant, he motioned for the police to take him away. And at that, Troy unsteadily stood to his feet and proceeded to vomit all over the major's desk, covering all the neatly stacked piles of paper. Despite myself, I had to wonder if Fowle was more upset at Troy's theft or the ruination of his neat little paper soldiers.

The smell of regurgitated liquor permeated the room and a deathly calm settled as all of us just stood and took in this latest event. The major was aghast and the first to show any sign of life. He walked over to Troy and grabbed him by the back of the shirt and shoved him away from the desk.

Troy's response was immediate. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then proceeded to grab Fowle by his shirt front. Troy shook Fowle roughly twice and threw him to the floor. Even before the major yelled at them to arrest him, the police were already in action. They immediately pinned his arms behind his back and started to remove him from the office.

"I'll have your ass and stripes for this, Troy!" screamed Fowle. "You'll see the rest of the war from a dank, little cell in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm already in the middle of nowhere, you asshole. There is no shithole you could possibly send me which could be any worse than this nowhere place I'm currently living in." And at that, he was hustled from the room between the two police.

Perkins didn't say a word, but instead silently walked behind them out the door. I followed him and we descended a long flight of stairs into the basement. We walked past several other military police and I surmised we were in the American brig. Perkins finally stopped in front of a cell with a lone occupant, looking compassionately inside. Even from the outside, I could still smell the reek of liquor and vomit emulating from the man. I knew who the was, who the man _had_ to be, but I needed to confirm it for my own sake. I took a brief glance and yes indeed, it was Troy, sprawled and passed out on a narrow cot.

"What becomes of him?" I asked quietly.

"It will be as Major Fowle threatened: he will have a court marital and lose his rank. He will end the war a corporal."

"It is very difficult for me to accept that Sergeant Troy has sunk to such a low-level."

"It was a combination of events. I think the biggest was that he was too good of a soldier, cared too much for his men. Losing Hitch at the well, then Tully at the poisoned water hole, the demotion of Moffitt; they were all too much for him to accept. Corporal Troy will never fully recover from this incident with Major Fowle. He'll continue to be in and out of trouble even after the war. Nothing major, mind you, just petty and foolish stuff, but enough to keep him with a revolving door into any local jail cell. Basically, he will become the town drunk when he returns home after the war. His family will also come to suffer the fallout due to his actions and misfortunes."

"How will that come to happen?"

"After the war, his family will have a major land problem back in the United States. An outsider will try to gain control of their property for the mineral rights. Corporal Troy will now not be there to prevent the takeover. His sister will be forced to quit school and she, along with their mother, will lose the family land. Very similar as what will now happen to your mother and sister."

"I believe Sergeant Troy has a brother, David. Why does he not come to his family's assistance? Is he killed during the war?"

"No, he is fortunate to survive the war. However, David will remain in England after the war with the RAF. Due to this commitment, he will be unable to return in time to assist his family. Corporal Troy's future role was to save his family's livelihood and that has now vanished. And then there is what will happen to Corporal Moffitt at…" but he then abruptly stopped himself in mid sentence.

""All of us have lost men in the war, and haven't ended up like this," I reasoned with him. He immediately turned to me, anger replacing the compassion previously shown on his face.

"I find that right interesting coming from you, Captain. I seem to remember it was just this morning you were ready to blow your brains out for having failed Voss and Junger, and all the other soldiers lost under your command. Have you forgotten how your life was to be? Have you stopped to wonder what Corporal Troy would think of you, coming across your body in the desert? Recognizing your death as a suicide? That you would not be the man he knew so well in the desert campaigns? Have you finally seen what your impact has been on those around you, your impact even on the enemy you were seeking to kill?" I had no answer for him. I didn't know how to answer him at this point.

"What can be done to undo all of this? Is it even possible for it to be undone?" I finally asked, a level of desperation beginning to make its appearance inside of me, which I was attempting to fight down. He said nothing and I took his silence for the answer I didn't want to accept.

"Corporal Moffitt?" I asked, ignoring his silence. "You mentioned him a moment ago. Where is he during all of this? I would believe he would be trying to assist Corporal Troy during his difficult time. You haven't shown me anything of him since his demotion. Is he now deceased? Is it his death which drives Corporal Troy to such extreme measures?"

"No, he isn't dead. Not yet. Not here, not at this place. Not at this time"

"Then where is he? What is Corporal Moffitt's destiny?"

"Is this your final wish before your end? To see what happens to Corporal Moffitt?" He asked me fiercely. The tone of his voice disturbed me and I could only give him a short nod in reply.


	13. Chapter 12

"I will show you one final episode before we forever part ways and you wander this desert as never born. It is this one event where you probably had the largest impact in your life, where you influenced the most lives, not just in the present but also far into the future. You asked about Corporal Moffitt. I will now take you to witness his ultimate fate."

I suddenly found myself outside a deserted village. The sun had just set and the evening chill was beginning to chase away the day's heat. I could hear the wind rustling, picking up from the desert, shaking the sparse tree limbs and causing distant shutters to slam against their frames. My face and body began to sting from being pelted by sand and debris from the increasing wind.

Perkins started to walk along a path to what appeared to have been a field before it had died from lack of water. There were a few tall items planted in the middle of the field. They weren't trees, but I couldn't discern what they were from this distance due to the darkness. I followed Perkins until he stopped a short distance away from the items and he gestured with his eyes for me to look up. As much as I had seen during the war, I was unable to control the gasp which escaped my lips when I finally was able to see what they were.

The scene was horrific, even by SS or Gestapo standards. The three bodies were each nailed to a different type of cross: Miss Arno to a red cross, Moffitt to a blue St. Andrew's cross and Jacob Hassan to a traditional cross. They were all nude and I could tell they all had been raped and horribly tortured before they had been crucified. I involuntarily took a few steps closer until I stood looking up at them. It was then I heard their low moans and I realized that they were still alive. I whirled in shock to Perkins who stood beside me, watching my reaction calmly.

"Three's a right round number, don't you think?" he asked without emotion. "Right clever about the crosses, each cross matches the recipient's background. You have to give Hauptsturmfuhrer Wansee your respect. His insanity certainly nurtures a creative streak." It took me several minutes before I was able to speak.

"Hassan died in the original version of my life, when he was trying to steal the truck and return the typhus serum. I had nothing to do with his death. I had no knowledge of him trying to escape and there was nothing I could do to assist him at that time," I said loudly at Perkins, trying to be heard above the wind. I desperately wanted to reason with him through this situation, to have it end differently than what it had become, to have it not of my doing.

"Well, in this version he still gets to die and in a much more interesting way. Anyway, three is much more interesting number than two. A lot of symbolism in the three crosses versus the two, you must agree."

"Where is Corporal Troy?" I yelled at him, ignoring his asinine train of logic. "He was supposed to rescue Miss Arno along with Corporal Moffitt, and recapture the serum. I left him the signs to follow. I did everything I could to assist him given the impossible situation. There is nothing else I could have done. Why isn't he here, now, to save them? My God, they're still alive!"

"He can't, remember? Too bad about Troy being in the brig, busted down to corporal, for striking an officer. This event by the way, can also be directly traced back to you not being born. And as for the other signs, you weren't there to leave LaDuc in the village to point the way and you also weren't there to leave the radiator cooler as a directional sign for the original Sergeant Troy. After all you've seen today, you still don't comprehend the impact of your selfish wish."

"Why didn't Corporal Moffitt approach the German officer who signed the truce in my place? Surely he would have done what he could to nullify the situation with Wansee."

"Corporal Moffitt did approach him, but as soon as the German officer discovered Wansee's and the SS involvement, he couldn't distance himself fast enough from the situation and washed his hands of the deal. As we've seen at various times today, it seems not all your fellow officers have the same degree of honor as you do, Captain.

"As for Corporal Moffitt, he tried his best to handle the situation by himself with Wansee, but he needed the three other members of the team, Hitch, Tully and Troy to change the outcome. The team's power was much greater than its parts. Oh, well. We can see how this ends up for poor Moffitt. So much for giving it the old college try!

"Dear me!" he said with a feigned look of surprise on his face. "It seems I neglected to mention the most important fact of this squalid situation: y_ou_ weren't at the scene to murder Wansee at the key moment. Because you weren't there to murder him, not only do these three die, but all the villagers in Raza perish along with all their descendents and everything else they were to contribute to this lifetime and into the future."

"How can you possibly call it murder?" I asked him incredulously, having to raise my voice to be heard over the increasing wind. I was dumbfounded at his choice of words. I fully accepted responsibility for killing Wansee, but I never would have even remotely considered it murder.

While my actions from that day were never far from my thoughts, it was something I made the conscious decision to place to the back of my mind. I had always tried to convince myself half-heartedly that my actions from that day were combat related. I knew I was grasping at straws to justify my actions, but it also enabled my soul to have some peace. The only others who knew about my actions from that day were the Rat Patrol and Miss Arno and I seriously doubted they would be contacting the SS to inform them of my deed.

"Well, if it's not murder, what would you call it?" Perkins asked in disbelief, not letting the issue drop. "Miss Arno grabbed the gun and did the nasty deed herself? You forgot the gun was loaded? You tripped and the gun accidentally went off? How well do you honestly believe those little stories will hold up in Berlin, in front of a panel off SS officers? Or in front of the lovely brotherhood of the Gestapo? Not to mention that you performed your little noble act for the life of an Allied commando, one that you had been trying to capture and put out of action for quite some time. Tsk, tsk, Captain. This isn't like how California justice will be in the 1970's.

"And you were concerned about what your superiors would think about your actions trying to save the girl in the well?" he released a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "What would they say about this little episode in your sordid life? Yes, I would definitely chalk this up to being a career breaker, don't think they would promote you to a major after word of this got around!"

I stood there listening to his ramblings, all the more difficult since it had already played through my mind dozens of times since I had originally committed the deed. His ramblings were forcing me to face my actions from that day, something I had been unable and unwilling to do. But he wasn't finished with the episode, not by a long shot.

"By any chance are you aware of whom Wansee is related to?" he continued on, with fiendish delight, not giving me the opportunity to reply. "His mother, Baroness Wasee, is a close friend of Hitler's, a supporter of his dating back to his early political days. It was due to the Furher's personal intervention that Wansee received his commission in the SS. Yes, I can see this going quite far if word got out regarding your honorable deed. No, your father definitely won't be able to save your ass this time."

"I was justified in what I did, what I had to do, to save their lives. I would do it again, without hesitation, if I was placed in the same situation again."

"Would you? Do the same thing again?" he asked, looking at me intently. "Put your career, your life, everything you hold dear, on the line? Not only for this, but for all the other acts we've witnessed today?" I didn't hesitate to answer him.

"Yes! Yes!" I screamed at him, feeling myself finally losing control. I had fought against this all day, doing everything within my power to maintain it. I now found all control slipping away without anything else I could do, lost in the intensity of the moment, from everything I had been forced to witness this day.

Losing control of a situation was something I was not used to, a position strange and foreign to me. I felt my emotions surge to the surface, unable to manage or stop them, my reserved and aloof persona completely absent. I had lost my grasp of the situation and my grasp of reality had completely vanished. Everything was frozen in time like a broken movie; any control I might have possessed at that moment had completely vanished.

"This time, I wouldn't have hesitated for any of them even for a moment," I yelled screaming the words as I looked at him directly in the eye. "I would still do the same act again: shot him, killed him, or murdered him. You choose what words you want to classify my action.

"Is this the admission that you wanted to hear from me? What more can you possible want from me? What more can you possibly get from me? Now leave me be, release me to my fate, return me to my desert!" I stood in front of him, my chest heaving, forcing myself not to look up at the three crosses where I could hear their moans beginning to diminish even over the howling of the wind.

"I've had enough…" the words escaped from my lips, I was powerless to stop them. I so desperately wanted this self-imposed nightmare I had created to be over, my end to finally arrive and to have some type of peace, any type of finality.

"Oh, no, you're not. I'm not even remotely finished with you yet! I haven't taken you completely down to the gutter of your soul. There's much, much more to this sordid tale you've caused to be written. It's your fate to suffer much more pain in order to reveal the truth of the life you've led and the life you have chosen to throw away with both hands. Surely you want to know what happens to Wasee, in the future, now that you weren't here to stop him? What life has planned for his future?"

"No, I don't want to know! I'm begging you to stop!" I shouted at him, placing my hands over my ears, trying not to hear his words much as a child would do when being told something unpleasant. Perkins reached up and with surprising strength, pulled my hands away from my head, holding them in a vice-like grip. He forced me to listen, his face close to mine.

"I respect you, Captain, for not breaking until now," he said in a low voice with an edge to it. "You Prussians are certainly bred with strength and fortitude, and you more so than the rest of them. Consensus up above was that you would break at Tully's poisoning. I came close to getting you there; it was at the poisoned water hole you finally admitted the folly of your wish. But, you lasted through that scene of life along with watching how your proud family ends up in squalor and witnessing Sergeant Troy's abject humiliation and disgrace.

"Of course, Francis had you breaking at the beginning of your little adventure, way back at the well. Well, what else would one expect from a bleeding heart liberal? I myself placed my bet on you breaking when you were told your sister had become a whore and had resorted to servicing American soldiers, the very men you are fighting against here in the desert, the same men who will control and reign supreme over Germany after the war. You cost me a pint to Adrian, Captain, and I don't like losing bets. Adrian placed his bet for you not breaking until Raza, but then again, he always had a soft spot for German soldiers.

"But I digress, please forgive me. Its time for me to finish you off and complete your break down before I send you off to the desert for eternity. Now where was I? Ah, yes! I started to tell you about Hauptsturmfuhrer Wansee, what happens to him in the future!" He spoke with glee, relishing how each of his words bored into me, how he was able to continuing torturing me, breaking down my last piece of sanity.

"You'll be happy to know he survives the war and makes his way to South America with a small group of his willing henchmen. In 1949, he'll begin playing Dr. Frankenstein with young girls he keeps in the basement. In 1961 he'll become bored with girls and will switch over to boys…" I reached out and grabbed him by his shirt front, forcing him to stop, my face inches from his.

"Take me back," I said in a low voice, forcing myself to control my emotions. "About myself, do what you want and what you must, but have mercy on the others. Not for my sake, but for theirs, all of their sakes: the young girl, my family, my brothers in arms – both the Germans and the Allies, the members of the Rat Patrol, Matthias and Margot and their children, Adele and her family, the villagers, my unknown wife and unborn son…all of them, those presently alive and those to be born in the future. My selfish wish was my mistake alone; the others should not be made to suffer because of it." I was surprised about how deadly calm I was, how much control of my life I felt returning to me again.

"Why should I return you?" he replied innocently, staring up at me with those round baby doll eyes of his. "So you can shoot your brains out, and waste such a wonderful life?" at this last part he ripped my hands away and gave me a strong shove with such savage fierceness that it sent me sprawling backwards unto the hard sand. Over me stood the three crosses, their recipients finally quiet. _Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison._ I looked up from my fallen place until the crosses started to fade and the blackness blissfully overtook me.


	14. Chapter 13

"Captain?" a man said gently to me. I could sense him crouching next to me and then I felt a strong hand move quickly to the side of my neck, firmly feeling for a pulse. The hand then went for my chest and started to examine my wounds, quickly opening my jacket to see the extent of the damage. I groggily opened my eyes, but I couldn't make out who he was since the sun was shining directly into my eyes. It was only when I recognized the distinctive outline of the man's hat I allowed myself the luxury of a broad grin. Apparently, he had managed to pull himself together and escape from the brig after all.

"Corporal Troy!" I said with amazement, struggling to sit up, but he gently pushed me back down.

"Corporal? I don't think so, Captain. I was still a sergeant the last time I looked," he said with a tight smile on his face as he gently held me down on the hard desert sand. His eyes were bright and clear as he knelt beside me and I couldn't believe the change in him. He looked like he always had, returned to the man and enemy combatant it seemed I had always known. His force and confidence radiated from him, the attributes which contributed to his strength as a leader. He appeared genuinely shocked for me to still be alive. Frankly, I shared the same thought.

"You need to lie still; it looks like you're pretty chewed up. We hit you three times and you also apparently took a hard knock when you were thrown from the half-track. I'm gonna try and stabilize you so we can move you to a field hospital."

Three times? I had only been hit once and had a dislocated shoulder. How could Troy be so mistaken about the number of hits? As anxious as I was for my own immediate health, I had more pressing questions for the resurrected sergeant.

"Sergeant Troy, what are you doing here, back in the desert? How did you manage to escape from the brig?" I couldn't contain my astonishment and my admiration for his abrupt recovery from when I last saw him, so forlorn and desperate in the Allied brig. "I must admit with extreme relish that it comforts my pride to know that you are as adept at escaping from American brigs as you are from German ones," I said in a self-respecting voice, still not understanding how he could be here. I couldn't help but look at him with a disbelieving expression on my face.

"Escape from the brig? Captain, I think you're having delusions. I need to get you out of here and find you immediate treatment," he said with sincere concern in his voice.

I sat up suddenly, pushing past his restraining arm and looking around to see my current location. I found myself at the same place where the Rat Patrol had attacked us earlier, where I had made my selfish wish and my fateful nightmare had begun. Everything appeared to have returned to the way it was previously. I could smell the burning vehicles and see the destroyed Jeep in the distance; even the ever present flies had returned with a vengeance. But how long ago had the attack occurred? By the passage of time, it should have been at least a few days, but it now appeared the passage of time must have been much shorter, the time counted only in minutes.

I noticed with another grin that my gun had been removed from its holster and was now out of reach, no doubt placed there by Troy before I had regained consciousness. As seriously injured as he believed me to be, he would not let his worry cloud his judgment into taking a foolish risk. He might have been concerned for my welfare, but at the end of the day, he was even more concerned for his own and his men's lives, I thought wryly.

"What are you doing here? How could you be here?" I finally was able to ask with a stronger voice after he gave me some water.

"We circled back after we attacked your column, to see if there were any survivors. I thought it strange when we saw no movement, nothing at all, after we hit you."

"What made you return this particular time, Sergeant?" I forced myself to ask. I wanted to know, I _needed _to know why he had returned. "This is something you have not done in the past. I find your action difficult to understand especially given the fact that you were reduced to one vehicle. You were taking an extreme risk for your team," I said analytically holding my bewilderment in check, not wanting him to notice it.

"I don't know why I gave the order to return this time," he replied frankly, looking me directly in the eye. "Something inside of me told me to come back, that I needed to return here."

"There are two other survivors over here!" called a familiar voice. I stood up unsteadily, leaning against Troy for support. I took a few steps toward the voice, still not believing the situation around me.

"Corporal Moffitt! How can it be?" the words slipped from with incredulity. I saw Moffitt kneeling down next to Voss and Junger providing emergency medical care to them. I couldn't stop myself and I involuntarily took a few steps towards him, burning with skepticism over his survival. I looked at Troy and then quickly back to Moffitt, not believing what I saw.

"Corporal again, Captain?" questioned Troy. "For whatever reason, it seems like you have that particular rank etched in your brain today."

"But he can't be alive, I saw him nailed to a cross, along with the other two," I said out loud, mostly to myself, ignoring his question. "And my men, they were also dead. They died several hours after you surprised us. First Gefreiter Voss, and then Unteroffizier Junger. It was at that moment when I made the decision to…"

"To do what? Captain, it's been less than thirty minutes since we hit you. I think you're hallucinating from the blood loss and fall," he said, eyeing my chest which was covered in blood. My eyes followed his stare down to my chest and I could see three entrance holes with a great deal of fresh blood staining my jacket. Surprisingly, I felt no pain although the wounds should have been extremely serious or fatal. Glancing behind me, I could see the sand saturated with blood where I had been lying.

I couldn't stop myself from suddenly whipping off my desert jacket. I then reached up and ripped down my shirt front, not bothering to unbutton it. The skin on my shoulder and upper chest was completely smooth and unblemished, without any recent marks upon it. There were no ugly bullet wounds or blood marring my flesh; it was like I had never been hit. All that remained were the scars from my many other injuries received in previous campaigns and here in the desert.

I moved my left arm, relishing the feel of the muscles as they easily worked beneath the tight skin without any pain, the joint healed without a trace. I couldn't help but throw my head back and laugh manically out loud to the sky, relishing my freedom and complete lack of control I felt in this thrilling moment. I saw a sudden look of astonishment appear on Troy's face. His eyes widened in surprise as he tried to reconcile my unmarked body with the bloody jacket marked by bullet holes.

My eyes suddenly espied a few items half buried in sand where I had been standing. They must have fallen from my pocket when I had suddenly arisen. I reached down to pick them up, but Troy easily beat me to them, snatching them up lightly. His eyes narrowed as he examined the pack of cigarettes and lighter, clearly recognizing both of them as British. He read the engraving on the lighter, his thumb running over it lightly as he did so. I found myself becoming fixated on them, not believing they were still with me.

"Well, this is interesting to say the least. How did a German captain come to possess a pack of British cigarettes and a lighter engraved with the name 'James Lyon'? You never struck me as the type to take enemy souvenirs, but maybe I was mistaken." I knew I was in dangerous territory with Troy and I needed to justify my possession of them to him. I chose my words carefully, realizing that any explanation I provided would naturally sound suspicious to Troy.

"Sergeant, I can assure you I came upon them genuinely," I said firmly and honestly, looking directly into his eyes while providing him the truth. "They were given to me freely by Herr Lyon when I made his acquaintance." His eyes studied my face closely looking for some inconsistency, any hint of a lie, before he slowly returned them to me. I held both items in my hand briefly, clutching them tightly to feel their power before I returned them into my pocket. Both of our thoughts were suddenly broken by a new series of calls.

"Sarge! There's a German column quickly approaching. A few miles away at most," called Hitchcock as he ran down the sand dune to the remaining Jeep. He was quickly followed by Pettigrew. "Looks like they're Dietrich's men."

"Hitch! And Tully!" I called out, despite myself. I couldn't help staring at them, not believing that they, too, were alive.

"You're just full of surprises this morning, Captain. When did you become first name basis with my men?" Troy asked suspiciously. "I didn't know you even knew their nicknames."

"I didn't, Sergeant, not until…" I left the rest of my sentence unspoken. I finally understood. Oh yes, I understood. I could honestly say it was the first time in my life I was actually pleased to see Sergeant Troy and the rest of his Rat Patrol.

"Looks like you lucked out, Captain. Your men will be here in a few minutes. We didn't need to circle back after all."

"No, Sergeant," I replied regaining my composure. I had to remind myself to use call him by his original rank, not the one he had been reduced to in my mind. "It was necessary for you to return, for my sake and for all the others, for something bigger than all of this," I said with a sweeping gesture of my arm, trying without success to explain the necessity of his actions. I couldn't find the right words to describe the events or how I felt. Immediately, I recognized that he misunderstood my attempt at words; he interpreted them as if I was giving him an after-the-fact order.

There would never be a way for Troy to know what I had lived through with him and all the others who had crossed my path of life. He would never comprehend the major role he had played in my other life, the tragic role he had almost been forced to have. No, he only had knowledge of the present and the tangible that was currently in front of him. In his mind, he had taken an extreme risk upon himself and his men and for what purpose? I was showing a condescending lack of gratitude for the danger they had willingly entered to save us. I had reverted back to being the arrogant Prussian, the stubborn enemy Kraut, the one still giving orders even when I was in no position to do so.

"The next time I hit you Captain, don't expect me to return to save the asses of you and your men," he said with a promise and a hint of anger in his voice. "I swear that I won't return, no matter what my inner gut tells me to do. And when, not if, I hit you again, I'll do it with extreme pleasure and I won't leave any pieces for your remaining Keystone Kops to pick up." He turned abruptly and started to run quickly towards the lone waiting jeep.

"Sergeant Troy!" I called after him loudly, my strong voice clearly indicating for him to stop and return. He stopped and whirled towards me, clearly furious with the tone of authority in my voice and unsure of what I wanted. He wavered for a moment and then returned to where I stood. Anger was clearly written on his face as he waited for me to continue.

"Do you have contact with a certain Major Fowle?" I asked unexpectedly. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he answered.

"You know I can't answer that question, Captain."

"That is quite alright, Sergeant. You just provided me the answer I was seeking." He stood silently in front of me for a moment before finally speaking.

"Why do you ask?" Troy countered, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"If I may pass on a few words of wisdom to you: it would be to your advantage to avoid Major Fowle." He stiffened at my words and could see the anger beginning to again flare before he willed his face to be impassive. "He is…what is the word you Americans use? A dickhead. Major Fowle will cause great difficulty for you when you attempt to requisition your replacement Jeep." By the look on his face, I could tell he was more surprised by the name I had called the Major and not how I knew about the Major's difficulty personality.

"I suggest you send Sergeant Moffitt in your place," I continued. "He tends to be more diplomatic and not such a 'bull in the china shop'. I would also suggest for Sergeant Moffitt not to wear his signature beret. It tends to irritate the Major." He looked at me for a few seconds, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Troy!" yelled Moffitt. "We've done what we can for his men; they're both going to survive. We must leave; we're quickly coming into range. We're already at a severe disadvantage due to the loss of the Jeep." Troy ignored Moffitt and continued to stare at me, not breaking my gaze in the least.

"Captain," he finally said softly, snapping me a salute.

"Sergeant," I replied as I returned his salute. "I'll be seeing you."

"Not if I see you first." He finally broke my gaze and quickly ran to the remaining Jeep, quickly leaving to escape the German vehicles which now could be clearly heard.

"Yes," I said to myself with a wry grin. "Hopefully, I will see you sooner rather than later. I would be rather disappointed if I didn't."


	15. Epilogue

"What's on your mind, Troy?" asked Moffitt after several minutes of a one-way conversation.

"Huh? Nothing. Why do you ask?

"Well, you've been staring at your beer for the last hour and you haven't heard a word that I said."

"As a matter of fact, I have. I've heard everything you said."

"Then what did I just say?" pressed Moffitt.

"You said…Sorry, guess I didn't get the last part."

"I said, 'there goes Rita Hayworth and she's only wearing a garter belt' and your reply was 'that's nice'. So tell me, what's so heavy on your mind? Hitting Dietrich this morning?"

"Yea, I guess it is," admitted Troy. "When we circled back, he acted different, strange. Not the formal, level-headed German officer he's always presented to us. Thought both of us were corporals and rambled about me escaping from the brig. Then he was surprised that you, Hitch and Tully were alive, even knew their nicknames."

"Must have heard us use them in front of him. He certainly has captured us enough times to pick up a few bits of information regarding us personally," rationalized Moffitt.

"He also knew about Fowle, even called him a 'dickhead'," continued Troy.

"Our good Captain used that particular word?" laughed Moffitt. "I must admit that is strange and out of character for Dietrich. German intelligence must be better than we thought for him to know Fowle's character so exactly."

"It's not just that. It's almost like he was warning me about approaching Fowle regarding the replacement jeep. He even suggested sending you instead, said I was a 'bull in a china shop'."

'Well, it's a common enough expression. And you must admit, Troy, you are rather a bull in a china shop," said Moffitt with a smile.

"Never thought of myself in those terms," replied Troy with a grin.

"Seriously, Troy, you must have way too much time on your hands to be putting this much thought into Dietrich's behavior. Being hit, blood loss, thrown from the half-track, out in the sun, any of those events would disorient anyone. If I may politely remind you, we are in the midst of a war and he _is_ the enemy."

"That's just it. I was there, you weren't," replied Troy quickly, purposely ignoring Moffitt's pointed reminder. "I saw his uniform: we drilled him three times right across the chest. From the amount of blood covering him and what he had bled into the desert, he should have been dead before he hit the ground. Yet when he removed his jacket and ripped open his shirt to look at injuries, there wasn't a scratch on him. He even looked surprised that he wasn't hit."

"Who knows what happened to him? Doesn't really matter though, does it? Perhaps his guardian angel was looking after him," Moffitt said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Could be," Troy said with a shrug to his shoulders. "Anyway, we'll never find out. C'mon, let's get outta here and find another bar," said Troy downing the rest of his beer and standing up to leave. "This place is too stuffy and stifling. I can't breathe in here; the scent of jasmine is over whelming."

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**

Many thanks to the Frank Capra film classic "It's a Wonderful Life" on which my story is loosely based.

Many thanks also to the Ranulph Fiennes book The Feather Men where I first encountered the opening Shakespearean quote.


End file.
